


Worst Neighbour Ever

by Proseandsongs



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adult!Dipper, Dipcifica, Dipifica - Freeform, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Neighbour AU, Swearing, Underage Drinking, adult!Pacifica, dippica - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proseandsongs/pseuds/Proseandsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything about Dipper's new apartment is perfect, disregarding his snooty neighbour. However, Dipper likes to make the best of things, and his neighbour's standoffish nature is no exception. It's a challenge. If he can avoid completely embarrassing himself in front of her, then maybe they can be friends. But knowing Dipper, the chances of that happening are slim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of a series of scenes based on some neighbour AU ideas I found and loved. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for reading!
> 
> Prompt: I'm just here to tell you that you need to stop taking showers at 3 am. Get your shit together you nerd.

Hot water was a gift from the gods, as far as Dipper was concerned. The spray of the shower sputtered once, twice before it went steady and he stuck his head under, basking in the warmth. 

This was way better than his last place. At his old apartment, a glorified loft with no heat and a constant roar of traffic outside the window, he had gotten maybe a collective three minutes of hot water per week. Being able to turn on his shower and step into something warmer than the polar ice caps was one of the many perks of his new apartment.  
It was a stroke of luck he even found the place. A buddy of his had decided to move in with his girlfriend on a whim and offered to let Dipper finish his lease for the semester. Dipper had all but leapt at the chance to move out of his icebox loft, leaving behind the colony of spiders with his sparse belongings in tow. Rent control apartments are hard to come by, especially ones this nice: it had a kitchen, a bathroom, a main area, and a bedroom, only for a couple hundred more than his last place. There was even free wifi, if you counted the bars that wafted up from the Italian restaurant on the ground level three floors below (and he did). 

Dipper leaned his head back, the chorus of the appallingly catchy pop song he had been listening to on repeat during the drive home drifting past his lips. As he lathered his shampoo, he started to sing the verse, putting a bit more feeling into it with each passing phrase until his voice echoed a bit in the tiled shower. 

His concert was brought to a halt when there was a loud banging from the outer door to his apartment. He yelped in surprise and dropped the bar of soap on his toe, releasing a quiet curse. Dipper flipped the switch for the shower off and stepped out onto the bath mat, listening carefully. Sure enough, there came another round of pounding, and it was definitely coming from his front door. With little other choice, Dipper toweled off as quickly as he could and wrapped the towel around his waist. 

As he crossed to the door, the banging renewed, and he felt the first prickle of irritation at the base of his neck. What kind of person knocked on someone else’s door in the middle of the night? 

By the time he reached the door, he had worked himself up into a right stew over it. Rude, was what it was, pulling him away from his shower. Who was even awake at this hour? Taxi drivers and people with nothing better to do, that’s who. And him, but that wasn’t really his fault. Mabel had insisted he help her move her new couch into her place across town after his shift, and he hadn’t been able to say no to her persistent pleading. He figured this was the selfless act that would earn him sainthood and expected to receive his acceptance letter any day now.

With a determined breath Dipper swung open the door, prepared to chew out whoever dared disturb him at this hour of the night. His courage dissolved completely when he saw the leggy blonde from next door waiting for him with her arms folded.

Dipper stared at her for a moment, trying to piece it together. Why was his neighbour, the pretty one who went for a jog most mornings around the same time he shuffled to the living room window to look out over the street with a mug of coffee in hand, at his door in the middle of the night? Either he was the luckiest guy in the building, or he was in deep trouble. 

Her frown suggested the latter.

“Can I help you?” Dipper asked haltingly, hopeful that his voice didn’t jump too high.

“Yeah,” she replied, taking a step closer, one that sent him back a pace. 

“You can quit taking showers at three in the morning while people are trying to sleep,” she said, her anger making Dipper fall back another step. Nose wrinkled, she added, “While you’re at it, you can knock it off with the Katy Perry. We get it, you feel like a teenage dream.”

Embarrassment surged through him and he squeaked, “You heard that?”

“The whole floor can hear your off-key karaoke,” she sniped.

Dipper ran a hand through his hair, sending a spray of droplets flying. “Shit, sorry, I – I didn’t mean to wake you. I just got in late the last couple nights because I was helping my sister move some new furniture into her apartment, and I just started a new job, too–”

The girl held up a hand. “Save it, I don’t need your life story. In the future, just try not to shower while the rest of the world is asleep.”

“Sorry,” he repeated. After a beat, he said, “I’m Dipper, by the way.”

The girl eyed him for a moment like she was debating whether or not to respond in kind. Finally, she replied, “Pacifica.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a shy smile. When she didn’t reciprocate the sentiment, Dipper stuttered, “I-I’d love to stay and talk, but I’m not really decent right now.”

Her eyes drifted to the towel at his waist and her lips pursed at what she saw there. “I can see that.” 

Under her cool gaze, he was hit by the realization that he was completely naked under a single layer of fabric. His hand travelled to where the towel was tucked in to grip it tighter, lest it fall off. Knowing his luck, he’d drop his towel in front of his neighbour and manage to get kicked out of his apartment on the first week for flashing.

“Yeah. Anyway…” Dipper’s toes flexed and his eyes dropped to the floor, which became suddenly interesting under her scrutiny. Even from this height, he could see the hair on his legs standing on end, the chill from the hallway making gooseflesh raise on his shins. His feet danced on the spot for a moment, the cold starting to register now that his humiliation had dissipated.

His head snapped back up when Pacifica said lightly, as if the whole thing was starting to bore her, “I guess I’ll let you get some clothes on.” 

And just like that, she sauntered down the short stretch of hallway to her own door. 

Dipper’s mouth opened and closed a couple times before he managed to say, “Thanks. Uh, good night.”

That stopped her hand on the doorknob just as she was about to turn it. Pacifica turned her head and gave him a curious look, seeming to mull over his words before she echoed slowly, “Good night.”

Pacifica disappeared through her door then, leaving behind only the remnants of his embarrassment. Dipper hung in the doorway a moment or two, the towel clutched at his hips, digesting the conversation he had just had with his neighbour. His first conversation with his neighbour, he reminded himself. 

He groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead.

“Way to make a good first impression, Dipper,” he muttered to himself. 

The instant his door was closed again, Dipper made a quick path for his bedroom, his mind still on the exchange in the hallway. If he was smart, he wouldn’t bother with the girl again. He had probably sealed his reputation as “towel boy” in her mind forever. He was cursed to walk the building in shame, always to be remembered as the goof singing Katy Perry at three in the morning. He’d be better off if they never spoke again.

Dipper knew all this. But that didn’t stop him from hoping he might bump into her in the hallway tomorrow morning.


	2. Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: We always run into each other on the stairs but we’ve never said (much) more than hello but when we found out we both hate the other neighbours, we became friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, this was a monster to write. Sorry it took longer than anticipated, but I hope you enjoy it! Also thank you so so much to kali_asleep (aka brettanomycroft) for helping me with this chapter! I really appreciated your insight :)

Pacifica was hauling an armful of groceries up the stairs the next time she passed by the new neighbour. The nocturnal one with the awful singing voice. By the way his eyes widened when they made eye contact, Pacifica was sure he remembered her showing up at his door the other night. It wasn’t something she was soon to forget either. The guy answered the door in only a towel, pasty chest and knobby legs dripping from the shower.

Pacifica didn’t pay him much attention until they reached the same step and he dipped his head in greeting.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she returned, not smiling but still friendly enough. The boy – Dipper, he had said; weird name – flashed a lopsided smile and continued his trek down the stairs.

As he descended, Pacifica turned her head to watch him over her shoulder for a second, lips pursed. When he rounded the corner, she adjusted the load in her arms and resumed her climb without another look behind her, a warm little prick forming in her chest. It lasted until the groceries were safely stowed, and didn’t disappear completely until Pacifica dove back into her lab report.

This continued for the rest of the week, and the week after that: they met on the staircase, one coming, one going, and exchanged a smile and a greeting. If not for her pride, Pacifica might have admitted that it was nice to receive a friendly smile from the quiet neighbour who had thankfully stopped singing in the shower in the middle of the night.

It got to the point of regularity that when Pacifica hit the staircase, she found herself looking for his signature white and blue cap. This was one of those distant acquaintances, pleasant due to the fact it required little maintenance.  You make eye contact, smile at each other, say hello, and continue on your way with a lighter step. That was the kind of companionship Pacifica liked best. No dancing around feelings, no worrying about what to say, and no concerns about if you were spending enough time with them. Yes, she could do with more acquaintances.

And the flighty boy next door with the easy smile was as good a candidate as any.

***

As a wealthy, relatively popular student, Pacifica had the luxury of being invited out often. Due to the frequency, she had the liberty to be selective when she received an invitation. So, Pacifica didn’t go out every weekend. But when she did, she dressed to the nines. This evening was no exception, as exemplified by the fuchsia dress underneath her wool pea coat and the gold jewellery that adorned her wrists and ears.

She navigated the steps by memory while she fired off a text to the girls at the club a few blocks over, telling them she was going to be late (fashionably so, of course). On her descent, Pacifica half expected to see Dipper trudging up the stairs after his shift. Even when there were bags under his eyes and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to collapse face first in bed, Dipper would still give her a smile and a kind word, something that Pacifica reciprocated with increasing sincerity.

Tonight, though, it was just her on the stairs, the rest of the residents either out and about or settled in for the evening. No sign of Dipper. He must be held up at work, she reaseoned. Later she’d ask herself why she cared whether or not she met up with Dipper on the stairs, but for now the question sunk below the thoughts of who would be at the club and how much she could drink without being totally useless in the morning.

When Pacifica rounded the corner for the final stretch of stairs and saw who waited in the lobby, she growled in the back of her throat. Slicked back hair, ironic graphic t-shirt, jaw hanging open like a trilobite as he scrolled through his cellphone. She’d know Chris anywhere. The creep lived on the floor below her and made a point of providing unsolicited comments on her appearance whenever they were in the laundry room at the same time. She’d learned to avoid the place after that one time he had asked her out and even her most blatant refusal hadn’t seemed to make a difference. Dragging her clothes to the laundromat down the street was a pain, but she wasn’t about to be cornered by him again if she could help it.

She slowed her steps, hopeful he wouldn’t look up from his phone until she’d made it to the sanctuary of the street. Unfortunately, the guy seemed to have a Discomfort Radar, because just before Pacifica reached the foot of the stairs, he raised his head.  

His eyes bugged out.

“Hellooooo, gorgeous.”

She suddenly had to fight to keep down her dinner at the leer Chris aimed her way. Chin aloft, Pacifica kept her eyes straight ahead, hoping that by refusing to acknowledge him, he would cease to exist.

No such luck.

Chris sidled into her path and Pacifica pulled up short, her nose wrinkling when she caught a whiff of his body spray. Smelled like day-old BO and desperation.

“Where are you headed tonight?” Chris asked, just as the door from the street swung open.

Pacifica glanced at the new arrival, secretly relieved that it was Dipper loping into the lobby in his work uniform, ruddy faced and exhausted but looking pleasant enough. His presence settled her stomach, and Pacifica drew herself up to her full height. She gave Chris her best glare and replied curtly, “Out. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Hey, hey! Easy there,” Chris said, throwing up his hands, “Just asking a question. No need to get all worked up. Right, Dip man?”

Pacifica watched Dipper’s face draw in a frown at Chris’s call, and she could see him struggling to assess the situation. The idea of him and Chris being buddies, which is what she gathered from the nickname, left a sour taste in Pacifica’s mouth, and she wanted nothing more than to put a few miles between her and the apartment foyer, away from the Chris’s uncomfortable stare and Dipper’s silence.

_There goes the only neighbour I can tolerate._

“I think you should leave her alone.”

If Pacifica hadn’t seen his lips move, she might not have known it was Dipper who said those words, low but very clear.

Chris’s eyebrows rocketed up his forehead and he turned to look at Dipper with an undignified gurgle of shock. His bark of laughter grated on Pacifica’s ears and he asked with a sneer, “What’s with you, Dip man? She your girlfriend or something?”

Pacifica went hot at the assumption and opened her mouth to protest, but Dipper cut in, calm as before.

“No, but it shouldn’t matter. You can’t talk to someone like that.”

Seeing the cool expression on Dipper’s face, Chris started to backpedal. With a shrug and a forced laugh, he drawled, “Come on, she knows I was just kidding.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Pacifica asked, finally regaining her voice and her usual haughtiness. She raised a brow and said with an edge, “It didn’t sound like it.”

“I think you owe her an apology,” Dipper jumped in.

Pacifica shot Dipper a look of confusion, but when she saw the seriousness of his expression, she was quick to pick up on his tune.

“I agree. Apologize,” Pacifica commanded in a voice that left no room for argument. When Chris didn’t respond right away, Pacifica let her face fall into her Ice Queen expression, one honed to perfection during her time at boarding school to ward off bullies and unwanted suitors alike. It could fell a man at fifty paces, and do even greater harm at this proximity.

Under her glare, Chris stiffened, his fingers wrapping around his cellphone like it was the only thing rooting him to this spot. If she had tried, she could have knocked him over with a single nudge of her pinky finger. The thought was tempting.

After a second, her brows arched expectantly.

“I’m _waiting_.”

Chris found his tongue then, and stuttered his way through a few hasty apologies. A few tense seconds later, he concocted a flimsy story about leaving the stove on in his apartment and scuttled upstairs.

Once he had disappeared, there was a beat before Dipper broke the silence.

“ _Man,_ I hate that guy.”

Pacifica was eager to jump on that bandwagon – she had enough complaints about Chris to write a dissertation, she was sure – but something more pressing pushed any thoughts of an impromptu roast aside.

“I could have handled that,” she said, her voice sharp. Folding her arms, Pacifica continued, “Chris is an ass, but he can’t take it as well as he gives it. The second you challenge him, he’s out like a dog with his tail between his legs.”

Dipper blinked at her a couple times before his shoulders caved in meekly. Suddenly, the six inches he had on her in height seemed nonexistent.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “I – I saw him bothering you and, I don’t know…I thought you might need some backup.”

“Well, I don’t,” she replied.

Dipper snorted, his eyes listing off to the side. “ _That’s_ pretty obvious.”

“…But thanks.”

When Dipper shot her a suspicious look, she added, “I mean it. Thank you.”

“Oh. You’re welcome,” Dipper said slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he was supposed to respond.

She held his gaze for two seconds, then four, then more than was comfortable. Pacifica broke the eye contact and said with a wave of her hand, “Anyway, Chris is harmless. Annoying as hell, though. Especially when he uses those stupid nicknames.”

“Oh my god, _I know,_ ” Dipper said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not even sure he knows my full name, he just keeps calling me ‘Dip man’ whenever I bump into him. The guy cornered me in the laundry room my first day here and practically gave me his life story. Gave me his phone number, too, and insisted I call him ‘Crisis’. It’s his gamer handle or something.”

Pacifica huffed and commented, “Figures. The laundry room’s his den; he preys on whatever unfortunate soul needs to do a load of colors. I’ve considered drinking the detergent a few times, just to put me out of my misery.”

Dipper laughed. “Seriously! I’m just trying to get some clean clothes for class tomorrow, man. I don’t need to hear about your new internet start-up business.”

Pacifica groaned in agreement. She had heard so much about Chris's business that she could be his CEO.

“He’s not as bad as Sadie, though,” she said. At Dipper’s look of confusion, Pacifica explained, “You know, the redhead who always looks like she’s just spent the night sleeping in the woods. The one handing out flyers for some new cause every other day?”

“Oh yeah!” Dipper slapped a hand to his forehead with a chuckle. “Last week she tried to get me to go to a poetry reading in support of some weird marsupial I’ve never even heard of before. She’s come to my door almost every afternoon since I got here! I’ve just started pretending I’m not home.”

“She used to do that to me, too,” Pacifica said with a roll of her eyes. “I finally got her to leave me alone by wearing faux furs for a straight week in December.  It was tacky as hell, and I looked like some deranged Cruella De Vil, but I haven’t heard a peep from her in months.”

“That’s genius!” Dipper exclaimed. “Any tips on how I can get her to leave _me_ alone?”

Pacifica took a few steps toward him and titled her head thoughtfully. After a moment, she suggested with a smirk, “You could show up at the door in a towel the next time she comes by. Or better yet, serenade her with some Katy Perry. Guaranteed to get her to leave you alone.”

The look of horror on Dipper’s face almost made Pacifica burst out laughing, his complexion going bright red. He ran a hand over his face and groaned, “God, I’m sorry. That was so dumb, I can’t believe I…yeah, sorry.”

“Hey, you could have done worse,” Pacifica said with a shrug. “At least you didn’t offer me pot brownies when I came over with a noise complaint.”

His eyes widened a fraction and he bent forward a bit, asking in a hushed voice, “Who did _that?_ ”

“Some very friendly hippies who liked to do 2 am jam sessions, complete with erhu.” Pacifica shrugged and continued, “Thankfully they took their show on the road a few weeks ago for some cross country tour. Turns out there’s quite the demand for bands that specialize in Asian-infused covers of Cher songs.”

“Sounds like a niche market to me,” Dipper remarked with a dubious look.

“Hey, whatever gets them out of the building is fine with me,” Pacifica said flippantly, taking a few strides forward. Her voice dropping, she added, “And if all it takes is a casual suggestion that they travel to an Indie Music Festival in California and a little donation to the gas fund, well…who am I to hold them back?”

Dipper’s mouth fell open, his eyes wide. “Wait, you _made_ them to go on tour? And they actually did?”

“I didn’t _make_ them go. I…encouraged them.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes on her and asked, “Are you trying to get rid of all your neighbours?”

“No,” she replied, “Just the ones that annoy me.”

“Have I made the hit list yet?” he asked, still smiling.

Pacifica found her arsenal of snappy remarks suddenly barren, and she paused. His expression was easy, but the way he hunched a bit to meet her gaze, his dark brown eyes soft and earnest – Since when were they that color? Since when did she care? And when had he gotten so _close_? – hinted at some anticipation. A response rolled around on the back of her tongue, and she let the words rise and fall a few times before she opened her mouth to speak.

The cellphone in her hand chirped then, loud enough to startle her and make Dipper jump.

 _Where are you???_ The message from Katie flashed on the screen. A second later, there was another beep and _We’re doing shots!!_ popped up to replace the previous message

Pacifica swallowed whatever she was about to say.

“I have to go, I’m running late,” she said, waving the phone in excuse.

Dipper nodded, taking a step back from her. “Sure. I should probably get upstairs anyway, I’m beat.”

Pacifica mirrored him, her fingers tangling around the strap of her purse. “Yeah.”

She flashed an apologetic smile and strode past Dipper, sliding a thumb across the screen of her phone to type a reply.

“I’ll…see you around?”

His tentative question was enough to make Pacifica turn around to look at him. Dipper dug his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders level with his ears as he waited for her reply. Having a boy intimidated by her wasn’t new for Pacifica; but feeling bad about it was.  

“Definitely,” Pacifica said, and her lips turned up in a smile when she realized she meant it.

“Cool.” As he smiled, the tension evaporated from his shoulders. “Then I’ll see you when I see you. Have fun tonight.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Too late Pacifica realized her flub, and she grimaced. But his laugh was kind.

“Oh yeah, I’ll have tons of fun sleeping the night away,” Dipper assured her with that lopsided grin of his.

Pacifica rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. “Whatever, Towel Boy.”

She pivoted without another word, but her smile remained even when she burst out into the biting chill of the mid-February night. Pacifica glanced down at the phone in her hand and sent a quick text to Katie, who no doubt was on her second shot by now, then bundled her collar more securely around her neck and bustled down the street.


	3. Acts of Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: After a rough party night I find you sleeping on the stairs but since I’m still a little asshole all I do is put a blanket over you and a pillow under your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, in which we find out a bit more about Pacifica's thoughts about her neighbour. I hope you enjoy it!

If Pacifica never had to sit through another dinner with her parents again, it would be too soon.

She was barely out of the limousine and the elbow length gloves were shucked off, the door slamming shut on whatever condescending parting words her mother had prepared. Probably another comment about her meager apartment, or maybe her lack of a Northwest-approved boyfriend. That one seemed to be on the brain more and more lately, and it made the monthly dinners with her parents barely palatable.

Pacifica marched through the front door of her apartment building and paused for a second, letting the door hang open for a few extra seconds so she could listen to the limousine’s departing roar. She smirked, hopeful the image of her – gasp! – opening the door for herself had scandalized her parents enough that they wouldn’t pick her up at her apartment building next time.

She stomped up the staircase, hiking up her dress much higher than was appropriate and shimmying her shoulders until the faux ermine shawl fell free. Pacifica snatched it up and continued her trudge up the stairs, tempted to kick off her heels but deciding against it when she considered how filthy the slush-soaked runner was.

When Pacifica rounded the final corner, she was startled by a figure sprawled out on the stretch of stairs. Based on the build, she guessed it was a man, but she couldn’t identify him due to the cowboy hat obscuring his features. Whoever it was, he was tall enough to take up the length of five whole steps, lanky limbs spread wide and a distinct snore rising from beneath the cowboy hat.

After a few seconds, Pacifica resumed her trek, content to leave the sod to the misery that would await him come morning. She only slowed when she reached the step where his head was propped and caught a glimpse of the scruffy hair that poked out from under the hat. Slowly, Pacifica bent to lift the hat from the man’s face and confirmed that yes, it was Dipper sprawled out on the stairs, and he was indeed sleeping. His untied sneaker and the empty half pint poking out of his breast pocket were all the explanation she needed to deduce how he wound up here.

Pacifica scoffed at him and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. When he didn’t respond, she gave his shoulder another shake that wasn’t so gentle and called, “Wake up, loser.”

He snuffled a bit, but made no sign he had heard her. With a huff, Pacifica straightened and took the final few steps at a stomp, hopeful _that_ would rouse him.

But his whistling snore only hiccupped once before it resumed at full volume, much to Pacifica’s annoyance, and she abandoned her efforts . As far as she was concerned, Dipper could stay on the stairs all night, if it pleased him. Served him right if he woke up with a kink in his neck.

With this attitude, Pacifica let herself into her apartment and made a beeline for her bedroom, where she stripped off her formal wear and slipped into her pajamas.  Holding her dress by the tips of her fingers like it was something rotten, she dropped it into the laundry hamper, burying it beneath the rest of her dirty clothes.

It wasn’t until she was scrubbing at the remnants of her lipstick over the bathroom sink that an odd sensation crept over her. She stared at her reflection for a moment in the mirror, eyes swollen from rubbing off her eyeliner, jaw still holding tension from her dinner with her parents, and thought about Dipper, snoring away on the stairs. Her stomach knotted in on itself. The realization that what she was feeling in the pit of her stomach was _guilt,_ for leaving him out there when he was the one who brought it on himself, didn’t settle with her.

Pacifica scowled, taking up her toothbrush and brushing her teeth more aggressively than necessary.

_He’s fine. He’s an adult, he can deal with his poor life choices on his own. It’s not **my**_ _fault he’s spending the night on the stairs. Nope. No guilt here._

This is what Pacifica told herself, even as she gathered up a spare quilt and pillow from her linen closet and ventured out into the hallway again. She strode over to Dipper’s sleeping form and dumped bedding on the floor above his head, surveying him for a moment to figure out how to pull this off without waking him. After a few seconds of consideration, Pacifica stooped and propped up Dipper’s head with a hand, slipping a pillow under it before she let it fall back again. Then, she threw the thick quilt over him, covering everything but his head and feet.

The last step was to extract the empty rum bottle from the pocket of his flannel shirt, lest someone else find him with it before he woke up and give him trouble for it. She lifted the corner of the blanket and slowly slid the bottle from his pocket, hand close enough to feel the heat radiating from his chest.

Just then, Dipper rolled toward her and muttered something in his sleep, his cowboy hat falling to the side.

Pacifica dropped the edge of the quilt and booked back to her door, bottle in hand and her heart in her mouth.

Once she was inside her apartment again with the deadbolt securely fastened, Pacifica held her breath for a few seconds, listening for any stirring on the other side of the door. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. When she reached the thirty second mark, Pacifica’s heartbeat slowed to a canter, the exhaustion of an evening spent walking on eggshells with her parents bowling her over.

Nearly dead, Pacifica slumped off to bed, not realizing until she reached her room that she still clutched the empty bottle by the neck, the plastic warm from being in Dipper’s pocket. She set it on her bedside table with a hallow thud and slipped under the covers without another thought spared for the boy snoring on the stairs.  
  


* * *

_  
Knock knock knock._

At the rap on her door, Pacifica looked up from the foot she had propped on the edge of the coffee table, nail polish brush hovering in mid-air. She waited for a few seconds, but when there wasn’t another knock, she returned to the task at hand, dipping her brush into the bottle of emerald polish and leaning over to paint her big toe.

_Knock knock knock._

“ _God_ ,” she muttered as she capped the bottle. She hopped up and waddled to the door, toes flexed to protect her half-finished pedicure. With a flick of the deadbolt and a twist of the doorknob, the door swung open to reveal Dipper: bedraggled, bewildered, and carrying the bedding she left for him last night in the crook of his elbow.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Pacifica greeted with a grin, her voice overly perky.

He flinched at her loud greeting and his free hand crept up to cradle his forehead, eyes slit against the natural light that spilled from her door like he was a mole caught in the sun.

Her smile spread at his reaction and she propped a hand on her hip, asking with fake innocence, “Did you have a good time last night?”

The groan that he emitted carried the regret of a thousand hungover college students, and he shook his head, eyes slipping closed for a second. Pacifica laughed.

“Well, if you came looking for sympathy, you’re asking the wrong girl,” she continued, waiting for a smile, a laugh, _any_ reaction from him.

Dipper’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Did you leave this for me last night?” The question was halting, voice rough from dehydration, and he indicated the pillow and quilt tucked under his arm.

Although a stab of panic hit Pacifica right in the sternum, she kept her expression smooth. With a huff, she asked, “When have I ever given you the impression that I would do something like that?”

Pacifica let her gaze fall and hoped that he couldn’t see the nerves bubbling underneath the surface, her skin crawling at the lie.

If he noticed, he didn’t mention it. Instead, Dipper held out the bedding and said slowly, “You didn’t answer my question. Is this yours?”

Even with a killer hangover, Dipper was sharp as a tack. Just her luck.

With a roll of her eyes, Pacifica lied, “No, it’s not mine.”

Dipper frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“But it says Northwest on it–”

**“It’s not mine!”**

The outburst startled even Pacifica, ringing for a second in the entrance to her apartment, and she felt her ears go hot. To cover her momentary loss of composure, she added, “But even if it _was_ mine, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Dipper absorbed that for a moment, his mouth drawn in thought. His words cautious, he finally replied, “I didn’t think it meant anything. I just wanted to say thank you.”

“…Oh.”

Whatever Pacifica felt, it _wasn’t_ embarrassment. Because she didn’t get embarrassed. Never.

“Is this yours?” Dipper asked one last time, still gentle.

“…Yes.” There wasn’t any sense in lying about it; not with her family name emblazoned on the damn quilt. That would just be pathetic.

He bobbed his head like he had known all along and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Pacifica replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Here,” Dipper held out the bedding to her. Her arms felt like lead, but she accepted it anyway, hugging the bedding to her chest.

She should have just said thanks and returned to her apartment, should have closed the door and let him get some desperately needed sleep. But she stayed put, searching the comforter in her arms for the courage that had fled her the second he had brought up her kindness last night.

Dipper thrust a hand through his hair and began, “Look, I…don’t usually do what I did last night. It was kind of a weird night: some of my friends from out of state were in town because we were celebrating one guy’s engagement, and while I was out I ran into my ex….”

He gave his head a jerk and continued, “Anyway, I was pretty bad last night. So I appreciate you helping me out. Thanks, Pacifica. Really.”

Pacifica mulled over his words, unsure _why_ he was being so honest with her but not bothered by it. Hearing about Dipper’s rough night actually made her crappy night with her parents feel slightly less so.

“You’re welcome,” she said again. “I tried to wake you up, but not even a hurricane was going to do that. Sorry you had to sleep on the stairs, it must have sucked. How’s your back feeling?”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “It’s fine. Besides, I’ve slept in way worse places.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of places?” Pacifica asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dipper recognized his mistake too late and he laughed nervously. Ducking his head, he responded cryptically, “Places that would make your already subbasement-level respect for me drop even lower.”

“Sounds like my kind of place.” There was a playful lilt to her voice as she folded her arms, smirking at him.

Dipper’s brows shot up to his hairline and he gave a short laugh.

“I expected more from a lady of _your_ standing,” he teased, a pleasant squint to his eyes.

Pacifica’s face fell at his comment. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the limo that picked you up last night? Whoever it was must think you’re pretty important.”

“Yeah.”

Pacifica’s smile was tight, her voice tapering off. Her eyes dropped to the bedsheets in her arms, his smile too bright all of a sudden. The anxiety that had been stirred up at dinner last night crawled out of hiding, making Pacifica’s limbs seize up. The solitude of her apartment cried out for her, and Pacifica was quick to obey the call.

“You should probably go,” she said in a low voice, realizing at the last second how that must sound but not really in the mood to care.

Guilt reared its ugly head when she saw Dipper’s smile falter, but he nodded in understanding.

“Yeah. I have work tonight, so I should probably have a nap before I head out,” Dipper agreed, sounding less confident than he had a few seconds ago. He stuffed a hand in his pocket and said with a wave, “See you later.”

“See you.”

The words didn’t hold any water, and Pacifica knew it. Still, Dipper smiled at her, and for some reason it made her stomach do a flop. Her expression must have looked startled, because he frowned and looked like he was about to ask her if she was okay. But she didn’t give him the chance: before he could speak, Pacifica blurted “Bye!” and closed the door with a slam.

Pacifica stood for a few seconds in the foyer of her apartment, unable to think properly; then with a shake of her head she marched over to the laundry basket in the corner of her living room, dumping the bedclothes there. She returned to her seat on the couch and took up her nail polish again, but her focus was off-kilter, her strokes imprecise.

When she was on her last stroke, the gurgle of the pipes overhead heralded the start of her neighbour’s shower. The pipes released their usual groan and rattled to life as the hot water kicked in, something she still hadn’t grown accustomed to after half a year in her apartment. With a grumble, Pacifica reached for the remote on the coffee table and stabbed a few buttons until a pumping pop song came over her speakers, drowning out the noise of Dipper’s shower in glorious surround sound.

Pacifica smiled to herself when she could no longer pick out the rattle of the pipes from the texture of the music and resumed her pedicure. At some point while she was on her second coat of polish, singing along to the music pulsing from the speakers, the tightness in her chest disappeared and all thoughts of her parents sunk down again, dormant until the next time a careless word would trigger her. And for Pacifica, that was enough: the solace of reprieve, no matter how temporary.


	4. Passing Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The walls in our apartment building are absurdly thin and I can hear basically every word you say, so when I hear you struggling with your homework I offer to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, I really struggled to get this chapter right. Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently and offered me lots of encouragement and support! Also thank you to embeglows for reading over a section of my story and giving me some pointers, it was really helpful :)

“Goddammit!”

The curse cut cleanly through the wall, giving Dipper such a scare that he nearly lost his grip on his book. He strained his neck to look over his shoulder in the direction the sound came from. No doubt Pacifica’s bedroom, if the creaking springs were any indication. The bed groaned for a minute and he heard some shuffling, then a low growl of frustration. Just as quickly as Pacifica’s anger came, it subsided into silence, leaving Dipper peering over the couch with his breath held. Two beats passed before Dipper returned to his reading, eyes landing exactly where he had left off.

It was a good ten seconds before he heard the next curse, this one stronger than the last. There was the clap of a heavy tome slamming shut as Pacifica declared, “Who even cares about calculus? It’s completely useless.”

“Need some help?”

Dipper’s teeth closed on his tongue in mortification, and he cringed as his voice rang out for an extra second. He hadn’t meant to say that so loud. Scratch that, he hadn’t meant to say that _at all_. He waited for Pacifica’s response with his shoulders scrunched up to his ears, desperately hoping that she hadn’t heard him, or would elect to ignore him.

“Dipper?” Pacifica called back after a moment, and a mixture of dread and relief flooded him. She now knew he had been eavesdropping, but she didn’t seem annoyed, and at least she recognized him.

Still unsure whether he should shut up or keep driving this train toward wreckage, Dipper said, “Yeah, it’s me. What chapter are you on in calculus? I might be able to help.”

There was another pause, some rustling of papers, and then her voice came again, quite clear: “Differential equations.”

Dipper gave _American Cryptids and Monsters_ a passing glance before he tossed it onto the opposite end of the couch. He reclined on the couch and set his head on the arm, arms stretched over his head as he prepared a response.

“Those can be tricky,” he said, voice raised so it would penetrate the wall. “What you need to keep in mind is that the differential is the guiding force in the equation. All the other elements have to change with it.”

“I _know_ that,” Pacifica snapped, sounding offended that he would assume she didn’t, “But how does that help me when they start throwing in all these extra variables?”

“Think of it like this: you’re looking for a function. It’s like…solving a mystery. You start at the endpoint and work backwards to find the function. Once you figure that out, getting the variable is easy.”

Pacifica was quiet for a few seconds, and he detected the scrape of a turned page. It wasn’t long before she spoke again, this time with an edge of suspicion.

 “How do you know about this stuff? You aren’t in my calculus class.”

“I took it last year,” Dipper replied, tilting his head back so his voice carried.

“But you said you’re in the same year as me,” she pointed out.

The corner of his mouth crooked up. She was sharp, that one.

“I am. I took some summer courses last year to knock off some credit; free up some time in my schedule for work.”

Whatever she muttered under her breath sounded an awful lot like “Nerd”, but she didn’t say anything more. As the silence stretched out, Dipper’s fingers began drumming on his thighs, and he fretted that she had reconsidered having this conversation.

After half a minute of silence, a pause long enough for Dipper to analyse and obsess over the potential misinterpretations of every word he had uttered in the past few minutes, he called out tentatively, “Are you still there?”

“Just a sec,” she responded, and the silence descended again. Another breath, a twitch of the clock hand, and she exclaimed with surprise, “Hey, I got it!”

“You’re welcome,” Dipper sang.

There was a snort from the other side of the wall. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“But you were thinking it, right?” Dipper asked with a cheeky cant to his voice.

“You can believe that if it makes you feel better.”

Dipper grinned at her lofty response and held his tongue, waiting for the inevitable follow-up question.

She caved before the second hand clock trudged its way back to the upper arc of the clock.

“…Dipper?”

The call was hesitant, and the uncertainty caught him off guard. There was a beat before she admitted “I have _one_ more question.”

Dipper smiled, folding his hands on his chest. “I’m all ears.”

***

It wasn’t just one more question. It was practically a one-on-one tutoring session about differential equations, with a little bit of enthalpy thrown in for good measure.

Dipper’s mouth twisted in thought as Pacifica finished the explanation of her most recent puzzle, his feet stuck up in the air to send more blood to his brain.

“…and then I got a negative answer, which didn’t match the one in the back of the book,” Pacifica said. “What do you think?”

“You know, this would be a lot more effective if I could actually _see_ the problem I’m supposed to be helping you with,” Dipper said finally.

Pacifica didn’t respond right away, which should have alerted him that something was up. After a few seconds, his phone buzzed on the table, and he reached out for it. When he checked, there was a message from an unknown number. He frowned, but he tapped the envelope against his better judgement. There was no message, just a picture of an equation, taken on an odd angle with a shadow cast from the photographer’s hand. As he brought the phone to his face to inspect it more closely, his eyes widened.

“Did you just text me a picture of your math book?” he called, his voice cracking with incredulity.

“Yeah. Can you read it?” she asked, not seeming to notice his alarm.

Dipper spluttered for a second before he finally demanded, “How did you get my number?!”

Pacifica didn’t speak right away, and when she did, it wasn’t the response he wanted.

“…I followed the order of operations, but the answer didn’t come out right. Do you think–”

“ _How._ ”

She growled at his interruption.

“Calm down, you big baby,” she commanded with a huff. Nonchalant as ever, she explained, “After your little snooze on the stairs, I figured you were an accident waiting to happen. To save me from future questioning by police officers or teary family members, I asked my parents’ assistant to get your number. Just in case you decide to do something stupid.”

Pacifica’s voice dripped with disdain as she added, “Apparently she found it through your library card. Seriously, who even has one of those anymore?”

Dipper wasn’t sure whether he was disturbed, impressed, or touched by Pacifica’s resourcefulness. Maybe all three. Despite this, he felt the need to remind her, “You could have just asked me for my number, you know. I’m right next door.”

“Yeah, but then you’d get the idea that I like you,” Pacifica said tartly.

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but she didn’t give him any time to come up with a suitable reply. Her tone a bit more urgent, she pressed, “So, about that equation?”

Dipper shook off his confusion and honed in on the equation, squinting to make out the small print. After a beat, he called back, “You missed the exponent.”

“The – _son of a_ _bitch_.”

Dipper’s mouth twitched at her groan of frustration and the flurried scribbling that followed.

***

The thin wall that once separated their apartments became a conduit of conversation, words tossed back and forth like a football at the park. Pacifica called out to him over the rustle of papers with questions about school work, calculus, chemistry, and even statistics, when equations were involved. Dipper relied on Pacifica’s unfaltering knowledge of the school calendar for special events and important days. For some reason, the second he was told an important date, it sunk beneath the countless theories that buzzed in his brain and kept him awake until the wee hours of the morning, powered only by coffee and madness.

It would have been more sensible to fire off texts as needed, but there was a certain comfort in the muffled voice that came from the neighbouring apartment, much more personal than a text message sent off into the abyss of forgotten message threads and impersonal font. Dipper liked knowing she was there, and Pacifica didn’t seem to mind. She exhibited no qualms about taking advantage of Dipper’s in-depth understanding of math his perplexing desire to help

As they conversed more often and candidly, sometimes without a tutoring session or a reminder attached, Dipper started to get his hopes up that this was more than just neighbours being neighbours. Despite her objections, the idea that Pacifica could actually be his friend seemed plausible. And he was in dire need of a friend within walking distance. This apartment, while clean and reasonably priced, sat beyond the area for most of his friends, and Dipper wasn’t in with many of his classmates. Mabel lived in town, but she was busy with college and her own friends.

Having the option to nip next door for a hang out, or to visit the coffee shop a block down with a buddy to talk with wasn’t something he’d object to.  He had thought about knocking on her door numerous times since their first correspondence through the wall, but after her lukewarm welcome when he had showed up with her bedding and an apology, Dipper couldn’t bring himself to jump that hurdle. Not yet. Give him a few weeks (and a hell of a lot of courage) and he might pluck up the courage to go to her door.

This is why the crisp envelope he found tacked to his door when he returned from his economics class one drizzly afternoon made Dipper’s blood jump. He plucked the envelope off the door and noted his name written in neat, curvy handwriting. When he flipped the envelope over, the corners of his mouth curled at the initials _P.N._ monogramed on the flap. He turned the envelope over again to look at the handwriting. He’d never seen Pacifica’s writing, but the practiced hand seemed to fit the bill, not to mention the initials on the other side.

Besides, who else would climb three flights of stairs to leave him a note?

He let himself into his apartment and shucked off his coat, spotting the floor with droplets. His backpack landed by the door for easy access should he need to leave in a hurry, followed by his sneakers, each with a soft thump against the wall. Too impatient to grab a knife from the drawer, Dipper slid his finger under the flap and tore open the seal. He slid the piece of paper from the envelope and unfolded it, his lips turned up in a half smile as he began to read.

_Hey Pine Tree._

Dipper stiffened at the salutation and his mind went momentarily blank as the words sunk in. Only one person he knew called him that, and he hadn’t heard from him in months. How he had figured out where Dipper had moved, and why he left a letter on his door, Dipper wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know. However, his overwhelming curiosity urged him to read on despite his reservations.

_I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I saw you at the party last Saturday and I didn’t want to interrupt you and your friends. But seeing you got me thinking that we should talk about what happened. I know I hurt you, but I honestly didn’t mean to. I want to make it up to you. Can we meet at Second Cup at 4 today? I’ll be waiting in the corner booth. Hope to see you there._

_Will_

Dipper’s hands shook as he read the message over again, his grip creasing the edges of the page. His hands tensed, trembling with the desire to tear the note into confetti, to leave it in ruins on the floor. But he couldn’t bring himself to even rip off a small corner of the note.

The clock ticked a beat against his temples, sending Dipper’s head sinking lower between his shoulders until he was one with the back of the couch. He let the note drop to his lap, not entirely sure when he had sat down but grateful for the support, and his thumbnail wandered to his lips, worried by his front teeth.

It had been a week since he had seen Will at the house party, and Dipper had avoided him that night, already half in the bag and not in the mood to skirt around a conversation that neither of them really wanted to have. It didn’t help that the Spanish exchange student from Will’s Global Marketing class hung around Will’s neck like a scarf, planting sloppy kisses on his cheeks and neck until their lips met in an embrace that lasted longer than Dipper could bear to watch. That catalyzed Dipper’s first shot of the night, and it had all spiralled downward from there.

What was this meeting supposed to be? Would it be a rehash of every issue they had leading up to the break up, or would Will try to get him back? The latter was dubious at best. The way the exchange student had clung to Will at the party, at least for the ten or so minutes that Dipper’s vision had been good enough to see them across the room, made it clear that they were together whether Will knew it or not. The probability of Will wanting to date him again was microscopic.

Even so, Dipper wasn’t looking forward to meeting him. He could think of a few dozen things he’d rather do than drink shitty imported coffee in the booth that held so many memories of whispering over unread notes and holding hands underneath the table, analysing every mistake he had made with Will. For example, hanging off the fire escape for the rest of the afternoon in the rain in hopes a lightning storm would descend upon him and put a quick end to his day was starting to look like a decent option.

“Oh, for god’s sakes!”

The sudden outburst made Dipper jump, the letter fluttering to the floor. His heart only resumed its patter in his chest when he realized that the sound had come from Pacifica’s side of the wall. There was some dark muttering, the crinkle of paper, and the urgent rub of an eraser on a piece of loose leaf. Math problems, no doubt.  

If he had been in any other mood, Dipper would have been more than eager to offer his help. But the note on the floor taunted him, glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth with its silent, faceless ridicule. Because it had been sealed inside an envelope labelled _P.N._ , hadn’t it? Which meant Pacifica had given Will the envelope, had spoken to him. Had _let him near Dipper’s front door after everything that he had done, the lousy son of a_ –

“Dipper, are you home?”

Pacifica’s voice filtered through the wall, dulled by plaster.

Hunched over on the couch with his arms braced on his knees, Dipper stayed quiet. Whether it was out of pained anger or because of the talons that clawed down his throat, he wasn’t sure. His eyes pricked and his breath went shaky, but he kept his eyes on the creased page on the floor, stared hard at the nickname _Pine Tree._ If he was lucky, Pacifica would give up.

“Dipper?”

Of course, Dipper was never lucky.

“Yeah?” he called.

There was a pause on Pacifica’s end, and for a moment Dipper felt a pang of guilt for his gruff response. Her silence didn’t last long.

“I’ve got a calculus question. You want to come over or something?”

That snapped him out of it. Dipper raised his head in surprise and turned to look at the wall, beyond which Pacifica sat waiting for his answer.

Despite the fact they lived a mere skip and a jump apart, Pacifica had not once invited him to her apartment since they met. That didn’t mean he hadn’t pictured it numerous times: he would brush his clammy hands on his pants and lope down the short stretch of hallway to her door. He’d knock on her door, shuffled his few while he waited for her. When she finally opened the door, he would say something witty as only fantasy Dipper was apt to make her laugh, and then he’d slide in past her. Did her apartment look like his? Surely the layout was similar, but Pacifica’s décor would be nicer than his. Pinker, too, if her wardrobe was anything to go on.

But now, the gaping mouth of emptiness spread wide in his chest, too large to be repaired by a quick calculus lesson.

“I’m…” His gaze flicked to the note, wrinkled like a used tissue. “I’m just heading out the door right now. Can it wait?”

After a beat, Pacifica replied in a softer voice than before, “Okay, sure. Talk to you later.”

The silence that stretched between them felt all the worse because he could hear the bedsprings creak as she shifted on the opposite side of the wall, barely six yards away. She was so close, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go see her when his insides were knotted with anxiety and hurt. It wasn’t fair to her, and it wasn’t fair to himself, either. He needed time to lift his spirits again before he could risk being cooped up with his neighbour in her apartment. He had already let a little information about his ex spill when he returned her bedding the previous week, and he didn’t want to reveal anything more.

But he also didn’t want to spend the next few hours waiting for this funk to subside, miserable and wandering aimlessly around the city until he felt good enough to sit in his own apartment without curling into a ball.

Dipper scooped up the note and read it over once more, leg bouncing as he gnawed on his thumbnail. His eyes darted to the clock, and it showed that he had just enough time to catch the next bus uptown. In an instant he was on his feet, pocketing the note as he crossed to the door. He pulled on his damp coat, keys jingling as he marched out the door, and galloped down the stairs two at a time.

Dipper burst out into the misty afternoon, thick clouds hanging low over the tops of the buildings with the promise of another drizzle before he arrived at his destination. Raising his hood, he started off toward the bus stop, his route just beginning to form in his mind.


	5. Neighbour Favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You lock yourself out of your apartment and I let you stay in my apartment until the locksmith arrives.
> 
> (Locksmith, Mabel...is there really any difference?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter begins a little bit before where the previous chapter ends, but the timeline should be fairly clear. I hope you enjoy it!

_Earlier_

It was a dreary Thursday, even by Pacifica’s standards. Having grown up in Oregon, she had gotten used to her fair share of rainy winter months, but she had never expected it of California. The sand and surf she had been promised when she decided to move for university were nowhere to be found, so Pacifica resigned herself to a life of carting around her umbrella.

She shook out her polka dot umbrella once she reached the lobby of the building and began her squelchy ascent to her third floor apartment. Keen on a hot bath and relaxing night in, Pacifica noticed nothing until she had her keys in hand and was over the last set of stairs. She stopped in her tracks when she found a strange man propped against Dipper’s door. His black curls were damp from the rain outside and his dark eyes flickered over the screen of the cellphone in his hand. With his drenched jean jacket and black sneakers, Pacifica had to guess that his visit hadn’t been planned and he’d had to wait outside the main door for a while in the rain.

He perked up at the jingling and promptly deflated when he saw her. Clearly he was looking for Dipper. She tightened her grip on her keys and watched him out of the corner of her eye as she marched to the door of her own apartment. Her skin crawled under his gaze, and when she stuck her key in the lock, she snuck a glance at him.

He seized the moment to pounce.

“Hi,” he greeted with a half-smile.

Well-trained in her youth, Pacifica avoided eye contact and spared him only a nod. _Don’t talk to them, don’t look at them, don’t make them feel welcome._ These unwritten rules she had learned at the age of fourteen on her first trip to Italy, when men on the streets had looked at her far too closely for her liking. This was no different, and she had the home-field advantage.

Unfortunately, the stranger didn’t seem to know the drill, because he pressed on. “Hey, this is going to sound weird, but do you know Dipper?”

Pacifica paused with her key in the lock and considered his question. There was no harm admitting she knew him, right?

“Yes.” Her voice was tight, and she turned toward him with her arms folded. “And you are…?”

“Will.” He stuck out a hand, but Pacifica made no move to accept it. His recovery was smooth; he ran his hand through his wet hair and slicked it back.

“I’m a friend of Dipper’s. Do you know where he is?”

Dipper had mentioned going in for a shift the day before, but Pacifica wasn’t about to tell a stranger that. She shrugged. “He’s out.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Nope.”

Will looked dubious, but he didn’t push for more information on Dipper’s whereabouts. He shifted tactics. “I just needed to speak to him, and he’s gotten a new cell number since we last spoke. I found out his new address from a mutual friend, and I was hoping to catch him…” Will cocked his head and asked, “Do you have something that I could use to leave him a note so he can call me or something?”

“Sorry, I’m not his secretary.” Pacifica turned her key in the lock and paused only to add, “This building has a strict policy about loitering and plenty of residents with too much time on their hands. They’ve called the landlord to complain about a rogue newspaper before, so don’t push your luck by hanging around.”

His expression softened and he spread his hands helplessly. “Look, I know you don’t know me, and you seem like a good neighbour, protecting Dipper, but I really need to talk to him. We had a disagreement and I just want to make it right. Please, if you can help me in any way at all...”

Pacifica sized him up again, this time paying closer attention. He looked young, not more than a couple years older than her. His jacket had a pin from their university on the lapel, now that she looked more closely, and a bus pass dangled from a lanyard shoved in his pocket. This guy looked like nothing but a harmless university student, no different from herself.

 After a day of classes and a walk home in torrential rain, Pacifica was, quite frankly, exhausted. So chalk it up to fatigue when she relented.

“Just a second.”

She shut the door firmly behind her to make it clear she was not to be followed. With a sigh, she fished the package of Northwest custom-initialled stationary and the fountain pen she had chucked into the garbage the instant it had arrived in the mail that morning. It was trash, but maybe somebody could make good use of it.

Pacifica returned to the hallway and shoved the stationary into Will’s hands. “Here,” she turned and waved a hand in a mocking flourish, “It’s all yours.”

“Thank -”

Pacifica closed the door without waiting for the rest of his sentence. With a profound sigh, she shrugged out of her raincoat and stepped out of her shoes. Pacifica left a trail of clothes on her way to the bathroom and draped her robe over her shoulders once she reached the door. As Pacifica filled the tub and the suds began to rise, Pacifica plotted out the rest of her day. If she cracked her math homework once she was done with her bath, odds were good that she’d be finished in time to see the new episode of   _How to Get Away With Murder_.

Her plan went to hell in a handbasket when an hour later Dipper refused to help her by citing the flimsiest excuse she had ever heard. Pacifica sulked for a few minutes once he had left, but when she returned to her work there was a new, spiteful fire. She didn't need Dipper. If he was going to blow her of, she’d show him that he wasn't the only one who could wrangle a few math problems.

It was barely ten minutes before she clapped her math book shut and took up her chemistry textbook.  _Strategic_ _diversion_ , she told herself, although she knew it was defeat. Math had gotten the best of her yet again.

It was all Dipper's fault. 

* * *

Pacifica raised her chin as the light patter overhead turned into a downpour. She watched the water stream in rivulets down the pane of the skylight above against a slate-colored sky. She sank further into the couch cushion and lowered her textbook to her lap as she basked in the comfort of being inside on a rainy day like this one.

Three light taps sounded at her door and interrupted her rain watching. She huffed in annoyance and cast her book aside as she heaved herself from her cozy nook. Pacifica paused at the door to peer through the peephole and was startled to see Dipper’s distorted face. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before she opened the door to reveal Dipper, hooded and dripping wet.

“Hey–” He was scant of breath as he flicked his hood off to reveal equally wet hair beneath. He must have run to avoid the rain but, by the looks of it, had gotten caught in the downpour.

“Hey.” Pacifica raised her eyebrows and waited for him to explain why he was at her door after ghosting her earlier that afternoon. When it became clear that he was too winded to speak she popped a hand on her hip and asked, “What’s up?”

“Huh?” He looked flabbergasted.

Pacifica rolled her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood for pussyfooting. “What do you need? Or did you just come to visit me?”

A sheepish look crept over his face as his hand found the itch at the base of his neck that acted up when his nerves were running high. Definitely not just a visit, then.

“Sorry. It’s totally stupid, but…I locked myself out of my apartment,” he confessed. “I must have dropped my key on the way to the café or at the table or something, but I went back and couldn’t find them. Mind if I hang here until I can get my spare? I texted Mabel but she won’t be here for forty minutes.”

Pacifica wasn’t sure what to react to first: the fact that Dipper was asking to wait in her apartment, or the fact that some girl she had never heard of had an extra key to his apartment. Instead, she decided to play with him.

“That’s funny. A few hours ago you turned down an invitation to my apartment. Now, all of a sudden, you want to crash?” Pacifica leaned against the doorframe and hummed, “I don’t know…”

“I’m really sorry about earlier, I was–” Dipper grasped for the word, “distracted. But please, I don’t want to wait in the hallway forever.”

With an overdramatic sigh, Pacifica gave in. “Okay, but only because I’m nice.”

Pacifica swung open the door and gestured for him to follow. So eager to be in the warmth, Dipper followed close enough that when she stopped to ask him to close the door, he bumped into her.

“Sorry!” he apologized, all six feet of him looming over her as he sprinkled her with rainwater.

“It’s fine,” she said, although her gritted teeth made it clear that it wasn’t. She brushed the worst of the rain off with a grimace. Wanting to get as far from “Dripper” as possible, Pacifica returned to her seat on the corner of the couch and curled up against the cushion.

“You can hang up your coat,” she said as she waved in the direction of the hooks by the door. He thanked her and shrugged off his jacket to show the rain drenched front of his t-shirt. Clearly he had been caught off guard with his jacket open. The wet portion clung to his front in such a way that she could see muscle definition that she had never noticed before. Pacifica’s gaze lingered a beat too long. When Dipper stilled and gave her a quizzical look, Pacifica was quick to return to her perch on the couch and the textbook that awaited her. 

His jacket shed, Dipper stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his eyes flit around the room in search of somewhere to land.

“Nice place,” he commented with a bob of his head.

Pacifica raised her eyes from her chemistry book, just as stuck on the third paragraph as Dipper’s shirt was stuck to his chest. Hel- _lo._

“Thanks,” Pacifica replied, too breathy to be casual. She was relieved to see that Dipper hadn’t  noticed her staring, or the falter in her voice.

Instead, he wandered around her apartment. He stopped to peer at the vase on her counter, the one from a Roman glassmaker she had met on her last trip to Italy, and his jaw went slack at the detail. Pacifica smiled; it was no doubt how she had stared at the vase the first time she saw it, too.

She lowered her book and called, “You can sit down, you know.”

Dipper straightened up from where he was staring at the vase and laughed nervously. “Right,” he said with a nod, and he loped over to the couch. He landed with a bounce and braced his elbows on his knees. _Tap, tap, tap_ went the sole of his sneaker as he jiggled his leg, and after a few seconds he brought out his phone and tapped out a message. He made no move to speak to her.

She worried at the corner of the page she was pretending to read as she glanced at Dipper in her peripheries. There was a long silence before Pacifica blurted, “It’s a good thing you gave your girlfriend a key to your apartment. Just in case you got locked out.”

“My what? “ Dipper blinked at Pacifica in confusion.

Although she didn’t let it show, Pacifica felt a bit insecure. She kept her voice steady as she repeated. “Your girlfriend. The one bringing you the spare key?”

“My – Oh!” Dipper threw his head back and laughed, much to Pacifica’s bewilderment. When he composed himself again, Dipper said, “Mabel’s not my girlfriend, she’s my sister. We’re twins. Didn’t I tell you that?”

Pacifica was stunned by the announcement for a moment, but she brushed it off with a brusque huff. “ _No_. I’m pretty sure I’d remember that you _have a_ _twin,_ Dipper.”

“Sorry, I guess I didn’t mention it. Weird,” Dipper said bashfully. “Yeah, she’s pretty fun. I think you’d like her”

Pacifica raised a brow. “I don’t think you and I have the same definition of fun.”

Dipper laughed. “Trust me, Mabel is as different from me as you can be. She’s one of a kind. I’m texting her now with your apartment number, if that’s okay?”

“Sure.”

Pacifica leaned back in her seat and let her eyes travel to his face, watching him as he returned his attention to the phone. He sucked on his lower lip as he typed, and Pacifica wondered if it was concentration or nerves. How much concentration did it take to text an address?

As he typed, Pacifica got a close look at him for the first time. His lashes were long, so long that with his downcast eyes, they threw a thin line of shadow across his cheeks. Those cheeks were spotted with freckles, acne scars, and a couple blemishes, much like the rest of his complexion. Pacifica noted that he had good cheekbones and a strong jawline peppered with the suggestion of a beard. The stubble flattered him, if anything, and Pacifica was startled to realize that Dipper was pretty cute. Scratch that, her mind corrected her, Dipper was kind of _hot._

The instant the thought precipitated in her mind, Pacifica snapped her gaze to the textbook in her lap and felt her neck heat up. Her hands curled around the edges like a vice and she bit down on the inside of her cheek as she resisted the urge to yelp in surprise. Because what the _hell_ kind of thoughts were those? Dipper wasn’t cute or hot, he was – dorky and awkward and _still insisted upon singing in the shower. Badly._

Pacifica kept her head bent, but she stole a glance at him from the corner of his eye as he pocketed his phone and leaned back against the couch with a grunt. He draped his long limbs over the back of the couch and turned his head to gawk around her room like a newbie in a fine art museum. He craned his head over one shoulder and stopped dead at what he saw there.

“Is that a _Monet_?” He hopped up from the couch to get a closer look.

Still shaken by her strange thoughts, Pacifica shrugged but didn’t turn to look at him. “Yeah. It’s not one of his famous ones, but it’s my favourite.”

He leaned in for a closer look and his eyes bugged out when he saw the textured strokes. “Oh my god, is it a real painting?!”

“Oh, sure,” Pacifica slipped easily into sarcasm, like a favourite dress, “a college student has a priceless piece of artwork in her living room. I’ve also got the Michelangelo in my bathroom, if you want the full tour.”

Dipper scowled at her for a second, but he was reproachful when he spoke. “I guess I just thought with the limos and diamonds and everything that it wasn’t totally out of the question.”

“Hey, money can’t buy everything. A Monet would be difficult to swing, even for me.” She folded her arms and explained, “It’s just a reproduction by a local artist. Pretty convincing, huh?”

“I’ll say.” Dipper leaned in until his nose was practically touching the canvas.

Pacifica sighed. “Try not to breathe on it; you’ll mess up the finish.”

He took a step back and held up his hands in defense. “Sorry!”

Maybe to keep himself from touching anything else, Dipper returned to the couch. He folded his arms and leaned onto the back of the couch to check out the book over Pacifica’s shoulder. She felt her neck flush and she stiffened as he asked, “So, what’s chemistry like?”

“It’s fine,” she replied airily. Pacifica underlined a term and made a faint note in the margin as she added, “We’re on organic chemistry right now, so it’s not too bad. Less math.”

“Still got the hate on for math, huh?” Dipper asked.

“Only because it’s terrible.” Pacifica flipped the page of her chemistry book with aloofness.

“It’s not _that_ bad.” He flashed a smile at her suspicious look and said, “Math gave me an excuse to talk to you. Oh, by the way,” his expression turned earnest, “did you still want help with those problems from earlier?”

“Hard pass,” Pacifica replied.  “Math and I are on a break right now.”

Dipper nodded in understanding, but he didn’t move. His eyes fell to the book in her lap, and Pacifica took the opportunity to shift the conversation.

“Why would you want an excuse to talk to me?” Her heart beat a little faster in her chest as she watched Dipper’s face flicker. Although she didn’t know him very well yet, at least not face to face, she was almost positive now that lip bite was a nervous habit.

“Because we’re neighbours,” Dipper said finally, his voice a little lighter than before, “and I don’t really know anybody else in the building. You’re pretty cool, we have a few things in common, and we go to the same university. Plus you seem to be one of the least insane person in the building, so I’ll take what friends I can get.”

Pacifica scoffed. “Don’t get any ideas about us being friends. Math is not the basis of a good friendship.”

“I think that attitude is the _root_ of your math problems.”

“Oh my god.” She buried her face in her book for a second to conceal the incriminating twitch of her lips. Only when she knew she wouldn’t smile did Pacifica raise her head and demand, “Was that a pun?”

“Maybe,” Dipper replied with a grin.

“You’re awful.”

Dipper snorted and his smile softened into something more introspective. “You don’t know the half of it,” he murmured. After a second, he cocked his head and asked, “Hey, did you see somebody come by my place earlier this afternoon?”

Pacifica frowned at the question as she remembered the man in the jean jacket. “Yeah. There was this guy who wanted to leave you a note or something and I gave him a pen and paper so he’d buzz off.”

“Really?” Dipper looked uneasy as he straightened up and took his warmth with him. He turned back to the painting and pretended to examine it again, although his eyes were too distant to be focused. “Did – did he say anything to you?”

“Uh, yeah. He said something about apologizing to you.”

This was not the Dipper she was used to, and Pacifica didn’t like it. A squirmy sensation that almost felt like guilt filled her insides and Pacifica lowered her book again.

“What did he do that he wanted to apologize for?”

Dipper’s jaw tightened and he slipped his hands into his pockets. “It’s a long story, really boring. You’d hate it,” Dipper said vaguely as he turned back to her.

A cryptic response like that was too much for Pacifica to take. She clapped her book shut and tossed it off to the side. “I’d be willing to listen to any story if it means I don’t have to study.”

Dipper gnawed at his lower lip as he considered her, and Pacifica remained totally cool on the outside. When his gaze fell off to the side, she added, “I’m pretty good with drama, in case you haven’t guessed. Maybe I can help.”

With that, Dipper caved. He rounded the couch and took a seat next to her, his fingers drumming on his thighs. He struggled to start the story, and he opened his mouth once, twice, before he got the first sentence out.

“Will is kinda my ex. Boyfriend, that is.”

And that single syllable “ _ex”_ created a stir in Pacifica, equal parts hopeful and defeated.  The way he said “ex” made it clear to Pacifica that Dipper was most likely single. The way he said “boyfriend” made it clear to Pacifica that Dipper was most likely gay. 

“Oh.” She could have kicked herself for such a lame response to Dipper’s confession.

Thankfully, Dipper took it in stride. “Yep,” he leaned back in his seat, “We dated for a year, he cheated, and it ended badly. When I found out, I left and told him to never speak to me again. It…totally sucked.”

“Sounds like it,” Pacifica said with a nod. The combined forces of her jealousy, curiosity, and genuine nosiness kept her hanging on his every word, and she waited for him to continue. When it was clear he wouldn’t, Pacifica asked, “What did he want to apologize for?”

“The breakup,” Dipper replied as he scrubbed at his eyes, “He said he wanted to apologize, but what he really wanted to do was tell me why we should get back together. It was a bad scene, so I didn’t stay long. And then I lost my damn keys!”

Dipper slumped in his seat with a groan. He chuckled without humour and said, “Today is a real shit show, isn’t it?”

Pacifica pursed her lips and asked, “Did you say yes?”

“What, to getting back together? No, I – well, I didn’t really say anything. That was the part where I just stood up and left,” Dipper explained. He squinted and asked, “Why do you care?”

It was a good question. Why _did_ Pacifica care what he said to his ex?

“Because…I should know your situation in case any more ex-boyfriends come knocking,” Pacifica said finally. “I need to know which ones to call security on.”

She was pleased that her half-assed answer at least pulled a laugh from him.

“You only have to worry about the one ex-boyfriend,” he replied. “My ex-girlfriends are either out of state or good friends, so no worries about them.”

“Oh. Good,” Pacifica tried to sound aloof, but he had revived whatever hope had remained since the conversation took this turn. “So…when did you realize you were gay? You said ex-girlfriends, so I figured it wasn’t right away.”

Dipper let out a big breath and shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m gay, actually. I still like girls, my ex just happens to be a guy. I’m probably bi, if anything.”

Pacifica hated the relief that bloomed in her chest. She was quick to stomp on it. “Cool. So does that mean you have a crush on someone now?”

His head snapped toward her and he looked alarmed. Pacifica held her ground and hoped he wouldn’t read between the lines.

“Uh, I don’t know,” he said suddenly. “I – I think…I think I might.”

The air between them crackled with an intensity Pacifica hadn’t felt around Dipper before, and her heart set off at a gallop. Dipper wrung his hands and sucked on his lower lip, his nerves coming to a head. He opened his mouth to speak but was stalled when there was a knock at the door.

The tension snapped.

“I think that’s Mabel.” Dipper pulled out his phone to check and nodded. “Yep, she texted me a minute ago to say she was on her way up. I guess I put my phone on silent. Want me to grab the door?”

Pacifica had retreated to her corner of the couch and had her book held up again, like a scholastic shield.

“She’s _your_ sister,” Pacifica said as she gestured to the door.

He hopped up to open the door, oblivious to the eyes that followed him across the room. Pacifica was loathe to admit it, but she had just had a moment with Dipper. The only thing that had stopped him from speaking, or her from leaning in, had been a timely knock on the door. If she was going to live next to Dipper, she needed to keep her feelings on lock, lest she make every meeting with Dipper even more awkward.

When Dipper opened the door and took a step into the hall, an overenthusiastic voice asked, “Did someone call for a locksmith?”

Pacifica jumped at the exclamation and was surprised to hear a laugh from Dipper.

“Thanks, Mabel. But you’re just bringing my key, so no locksmithing require.”

“Look, Dip Dop,” Pacifica snorted at the nickname, “I’m the one with the key here. You probably shouldn’t correct me if you want to see the inside of your apartment again.”

Dipper sighed  and slouched in defeat as he mumbled another thank you. The two voices in the hall dropped to an undertone, and Pacifica’s curiosity was newly piqued. She set her book aside and made a beeline for the door, intrigued by mysterious twin.

When she peered around Dipper’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the twin she knew only by name, Pacifica was faced with a woman in the loudest sweater that Pacifica had ever set eyes on. Mabel’s bright eyes flicked to her once for a cursory glance, then landed on her and her mouth froze mid-word.

Dipper bristled as he sensed Pacifica’s presence. He whipped his head around and opened his mouth to speak, probably to introduce her, but Mabel was too fast.

“Hi there!” Mabel bounded into the entry of her apartment with the energy of an aerobics instructor. The resemblance was only strengthened by the offensively bright outfit and perky voice. Mabel elbowed past Dipper and caught Pacifica’s hand.

“I’m Mabel, and your hair is _gorgeous_!” she greeted.

Pacifica blinked and shook Mabel’s hand. “Uh…thanks. I’m Pacifica.”

Mabel’s face flickered and she glanced at Dipper, who had flushed pink across the cheeks.

“Oh my gosh, Dipper’s talked about you _loads._ But he never mentioned what a _babe_ you are–”

“Mabel!” Dipper shot his sister an urgent look, wide eyed and desperate.

Pacifica resisted the urge to laugh and decided to play along.

“It’s okay, Dipper,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder with a haughty smile, “She isn’t telling me anything I don’t already know.”

Mabel beamed at her. “I like her!  Why were you hiding your super cool neighbour?”

“I wasn’t hiding her!”

His red face and inability to make eye contact proved that he had indeed been hiding Pacifica, probably to avoid the situation currently unfolding in the hallway. Pacifica almost felt bad for Dipper.

…but not bad enough to stop teasing him.

“Yeah, Dipper. Are you embarrassed to be seen with me or something?” Pacifica batted her lashes with fake innocence.

His cheeks puffed up in a scowl. “You just said we aren’t friends!”

Pacifica placed a hand to her chest and stuck out her lower lip.

“I’m hurt,” she crooned, much to Mabel’s delight and Dipper’s annoyance, “To think, I let you in my apartment. This is how you repay me?”

Mabel looked between the two of them with a face-splitting grin. “Can we keep her, Dipper?”

Dipper looked about to argue – whether with his sister or his neighbour, she couldn’t tell – but Pacifica cut him off.

“I’m joking, Dipper,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Where’s your sense of humour?”

Dipper sighed and changed the subject. “Look, Mabel, I’ve got a lot to do tonight. Can I have my key?”

Mabel looked from Dipper’s outstretched hand to Pacifica, then back to his hand like she was deliberating. Finally, she agreed.

“Yeah, let’s get you inside. It was nice meeting you, Pacifica! Have a good night!”

Mabel’s genuine smile was infectious, and Pacifica waved goodbye to Mabel with a smile of her own. “Have a good night, you two. See you, Dipper!”

“Bye–”

Dipper’s sentence was cut off when Mabel tugged his sleeve and whispered into his ear, “Dipper, sidebar.”

Dipper could only wave over his shoulder as Mabel dragged Dipper out the door. The instant the door closed behind them, Mabel began to speak.

“Oh my gosh, Dipper, I can’t believe you!”

“Ow, don’t hit me!”

Although he hissed, Pacifica could still hear Dipper’s every word. She hung by the door, too invested in the scene in the hallway to care about the etiquette of eavesdropping. Namely: not to eavesdrop.

“You didn’t tell me your neighbour was a hottie!” Mabel practically shrieked.

Dipper spluttered. “She isn’t a – well, she _is,_ but it’s not like that.”

Pacifica flushed a bit with pride. It wasn’t like boys hadn’t fawned over her before, but Dipper was so friendly that it was difficult to tell if he was just being nice, or if there was something more in his offhand compliments. That admission, coupled with the moment on the couch, set a fire in Pacifica’s gut.

“Oh yeah? So you just casually show up at this girl’s door and ask to hang in her apartment? There’s nothing going on there, eh?”

“No, there isn’t. Pacifica isn’t…she…” Dipper sighed. “Never mind. Can you just give me the key and go back to whatever it was you were doing before you came over?”

“What key? The key to your heart? Because I think _she_ has it!”

Pacifica heard a hushing sound, and when Dipper spoke again, his voice was pinched. “Shut up! She can probably hear you.”

“You think?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then a shout.

“Hey, Pacifica! You want to take out my nerd brother on a date? Because he would LOVE–”

“Shut up, Mabel!”

Whatever Mabel tried to say next was muffled.  When Pacifica checked through the peephole, she saw that Dipper had tugged her tuque down over her face and was whispering something to her, so quiet that Pacifica couldn’t make it out. After a moment, Dipper ushered Mabel toward his apartment and they disappeared from view.

Pacifica stepped back from the door with her mind churning and her chest pounding. She sat down again, but she was too unsettled by everything she had seen and heard in the past hour to go back to her homework. Instead, Pacifica watched the rain streak the skylight overhead and tried not to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think :)


	6. Willpower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I catch you in the hallway with your one-night stand and noooo, this isn’t awkward at all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Once the mini marshmallows had been slurped up, Mabel set down her empty hot chocolate mug and fixed her brother with a concerned look. He avoided her gaze by taking another sip of his now lukewarm instant coffee. Although unappetizing, it was a welcome distraction.   

“Are you sure you’re okay, bro-bro?” Mabel arched her eyebrows meaningfully. 

Dipper lowered his mug and gave a tight-lipped smile. Even before he told her about his meeting with Will, he had known that Mabel would be concerned. She knew most of the nitty-gritty details about their relationship and their breakup, more than anyone else. Dipper trusted his sister to empathize, given her own history of relationships and heartbreak. Having Mabel in his corner was a blessing. 

“I’m fine.” Dipper drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “We met, we talked, I walked out. Nothing major.” 

“I wouldn’t say nothing major,” Mabel said with a frown. “What about what he said about getting back together?” 

Dipper aimed for a casual shrug, but the gesture was too stiff to be careless. “I don’t know, maybe he just felt guilty or something? I’m sure he’ll lose interest.” 

Eyes fixed on her mug, Mabel spun it in circles on the tabletop and cocked her head to the side. “What about you?” Her gaze flicked to his. “Have you lost interest in him?” 

“I…” Dipper trailed off and gave his head a shake. When Mabel’s expression turned sympathetic, he shoved back his chair and turned to the sink with his mug in hand. He dumped it out and started the tap to wash up. With any luck, the running water would drown out what he said next. 

“I guess I’ll just have to wait a little longer,” he said finally. 

“Still hung up on him, huh?” Mabel skirted the table and threw a comforting arm around his middle, her cheek pressed into his shoulder. 

“A little,” he admitted in a small voice, “and I _hate it_. I feel so stupid because I know he hurt me and I’m allowed to be mad. I _am_ mad.” He huffed in frustration. “But I still care about him sometimes.” 

“I know, bro-bro.” Mabel gave him another squeeze. “It takes time to get over somebody you care about, even if they cheated on you. Don’t worry, though; one day you’ll realize that you don’t even think about him anymore.” 

Dipper grunted as he rinsed his mug. “I hope so.” 

He tilted his head to nuzzle Mabel’s, his hands too wet for hugs, and she gave him one last squeeze around the waist. 

“Okay, I’m done talking about him. Let’s talk about something else,” Dipper suggested as he placed the clean mug in the drying rack. While he scrubbed Mabel’s chocolate-crusted mug, she picked up the dish towel and started to dry the dishes with a hip braced against the counter. 

She pursed her lips in thought and echoed, “Something else, huh?” She hummed tunelessly in an exaggerated show of thinking, then drawled, “You know, Pacifica seems really nice.” 

At her name, Dipper froze with his hands under the stream of water. He stole a glance at Mabel out of the corner of his eye and was unsettled by the smile that played about her lips. 

“Yeah, she’s alright.” His movements were slow and suspicious as he handed her the other mug. 

Mabel didn’t seem to notice his wariness. She ploughed on. “She’s so cool! I’m glad that you two are friends.” 

As Mabel turned to the cupboard to put away their mugs, Dipper’s guard fell a few centimeters. Maybe Mabel’s innocuous statement was nothing more than that. 

“Yeah, me too.” The idea that they were friends set off a flutter in his chest, and he couldn’t suppress a faint smile. 

Mabel folded her arms and leaned into her brother conspiratorially. “Think I can get her number?” 

His withering look made Mabel throw her head back in laughter. 

“What? Pacifica’s awesome, and if you’re not going to date her, I know someone who’d be all over that.” Mabel punctuated her sentence with a wink. 

Dipper rolled his eyes and asked with heavy sarcasm, “Who, you?” 

“Naturally.” After a beat, she added, “Unless, of course, you’re interested? Because I wholly respect the sacred law of dibs.” 

Dipper burst out laughing. “You can’t dibs a person!” 

“I know, I know–” Mabel batted him with the dish towel “–but in this case you might want to; before I have the chance to win her over with the good old Mabel Charm.”

The eyebrow waggle earned another laugh, and Mabel grinned. That had been her intention to begin with; not to set up a date, but to make her brother laugh. Nothing cheered up an unhappy Dip-Dop quite like Mabel’s shenanigans. 

Once Dipper regained his breath, Mabel raised her eyebrows and asked, “Soooooo?” 

Dipper folded his arms and leaned back against the counter in a mirror image of his sister, his eyes downcast. “I don’t know, I…kinda want to see where it goes with Pacifica. She’s my friend, and I’m not gonna force it, but if she ever…you know, says she likes me or something, I would like to…” 

His face turned pink and he bit down on the hope that bloomed in those halting words. Mabel filled in the gap. 

“Say no more, bro-bro!” Mabel clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring shake. “But I still want her number. She would make a perfect addition to movie night…Ooh! Do you think she can braid hair?” 

Dipper laughed. “How about I give her your number so she can decide whether or not she wants to text you?” 

“She will,” Mabel insisted. 

“I know…but just in case.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Mabel scoffed like the suggestion that anyone _wouldn’t_ want to talk to her was ludicrous. “Just don’t get jealous when Pacifica likes me better.” 

The playful punch barely grazed her arm, but his smile hit her full force. “I’ll try not to.” 

* * *

After Mabel made her exit with the same amount of drama as her entrance – Dipper wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from the embarrassment of Mabel shouting “goodbye” to Pacifica at the top of her lungs (although Pacifica _did_ shout it back) – he puttered around to make dinner. In the midst of boiling noodles, he remembered to text Pacifica Mabel’s number – _to use at your own risk,_ he explained. He was relieved and pleased when he received a “Thanks!” followed by a series of emojis that included the hands clapping, a thumbs up, and a smiley face. 

After dinner, he curled up on the couch to complete his notes on the reading for tomorrow morning’s Ethics in Journalism, Film, and Media lecture. 

He didn’t move until hours later, when a knock at the door roused him from his work. Dipper stretched over the back of the couch to check the clock and frowned. 10:30pm? Who came visiting that late on a school night? 

He quickly checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed a text from Mabel or a friend planning to drop by. To his surprise, nothing. He pocketed his phone and hopped off the couch, one hand creeping up to rub his tired eyes. Perhaps he should have taken an extra second to look through the peephole before he opened the door, but Dipper’s fatigue after an extra shift at work, not to mention the coffee shop disaster and the whole lock-out debacle, left him forgetful. 

He wasn’t too tired to string together an impressive sequence of profanities when he opened the door and saw who was waiting there. 

“Well hello to you, too,” Will said dryly. 

Dipper planted himself in the doorway and tightened his jaw. “What are you doing here?” 

Will held up a set of keys and shook them for effect. “You forgot these at the café earlier.” 

“Great.” Dipper snatched them back and was about to slam the door without another word. At the last second he remembered his manners and added, “Thanks for bringing them.” 

“You’re welcome.” Will chanced a lopsided smile and Dipper’s stomach knotted violently on itself. Whether it was from revulsion or yearning, he couldn’t say. 

“Yeah, well…thanks.” Dipper dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. “But, uh, could you do me a favour and not come by my apartment anymore? It makes it hard for me.” 

Will’s expression clouded. “Come on. I know I messed up, and I know you’re upset–” 

“But you keep coming back anyway, after I told you not to.” Dipper’s throat clamped shut and he blinked away the sting in his eyes as he pretended to cough. He hadn’t cried earlier that afternoon and he wasn’t about to cry now. “Why can’t you just listen to me when I say I don’t want you?” 

There was a pause, and then Will took a small step forward. His voice measured and low, Will replied, “Because I know that’s not totally true. Can you honestly tell me that you don’t care about me at all? Do that, and I’ll stop trying.” 

Dipper was afraid to meet Will’s gaze, for fear that he would lay out the raw hurt and want for Will to see and take advantage of. At this point, Dipper knew he wouldn’t be able to resist if he saw any remorse in Will’s expression. But as the silence stretched out, Dipper slowly raised his head and met Will’s eyes, dark and impenetrable as ever. His mouth was titled in a soft smile that beckoned him forward. Slowly – or maybe not slowly at all, it was all a blur – Dipper felt himself drifting toward Will, leaning in until his mouth was pressed against the smile that still made him feel weak. 

The instant Dipper relaxed into him, Will wove one hand into his hair and tilted Dipper’s head back, using his height to his advantage. He took control, and Dipper was submerged in that achingly familiar embrace, completely entranced. So entranced that he didn’t notice when Will walked him backwards into his apartment and closed the door, or when Will’s other hand rucked the t-shirt up his back to grope at his skin. It wasn’t until he was literally backed against the wall with Will’s teeth on his neck that Dipper spoke up. 

“Hey, wait.” He pushed against Will’s shoulder and was glad when he instantly pulled back. 

“What?” Will’s eyes were softer now and his breath was short, but he didn’t look dazed like Dipper felt. 

Dipper swallowed hard and said in a raspy voice, “I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m still not sure how I feel about this.” 

Will looked a little hurt, but he took another step back. “Yeah, you have a point. Are you okay?” 

His fingers caressed Dipper’s cheek, and another set of chills erupted there that made Dipper breathless. 

“Fine,” Dipper let out a loud pant, “just gotta go to the bathroom for a sec. Wait out here.” 

At Will’s nod, Dipper made a beeline to the bathroom and closed the door behind him with a thud. The reflection that stared back at him was flushed and swollen-lipped, his unkempt hair stuck up on one side. He patted his hair to flatten it and quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket. Time to call for reinforcements. 

He listened to the phone ring once…twice…three times…

“Come on, Mabel, pick _up,”_ he hissed as he heard the fourth ring. Maybe she– 

“Howdy, stranger!” 

Dipper slumped in relief. “Mabel, thank god! I need your help–” 

“Haha, gotcha! Voicemail, womp womp! I’m not here right now, but if you need to get a hold of me–” 

Dipper wailed in desperation and ended the call. She must have created a new outgoing message since the last time he had left her a message. Dipper tried her number twice more before he resigned himself to the conclusion that Mabel was too busy to take his call. He ran a hand through his hair frantically and reviewed the scenario: 

  1. He was alone in his apartment with his ex.
  2. His terrible, cheating, annoyingly charming ex.
  3. He was trapped in his own bathroom with no way out.
  4. Mabel wasn’t answering her phone, so no pep talk.
  5. There was no one he could think to call who wasn’t either at work or in bed.
  6. He _really_ wanted to sleep with Will. 



Dipper sat on the toilet seat lid and cradled his head in his hands. He had really screwed himself over this time. 

As he waited for inspiration to strike, he heard a familiar voice singing softly on the other side of the wall. He raised his head as the idea formed in his head, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dialled the number. 

She answered on the first ring. “I’m about to start _How to Get Away With Murder,_ so this had better be good.” 

“Pacifica!” Dipper was so relieved to hear her voice that he almost yelled her name. He clapped a hand over his mouth and glanced at the door. 

“What are you yelling about?” she asked. 

“Nothing, sorry.” Dipper lowered his voice as he started to pace the bathroom, “Look, I need some relationship advice.” 

There was a stunned silence. “And you decided to call me _why_?” 

“Because you’re – you’re one of my most honest friends,” Dipper said finally. 

This seemed to appease Pacifica. When she spoke next, she sounded less hostile. “Okay, what’s up?” 

Dipper’s gaze shifted back to the bathroom door and he steeled himself. “Alright, so I’ve got my ex in my apartment right now wanting to talk and I don’t know what to do. I’m still hurt and he wants to get back together, but I’m not sure–” 

“Hold it,” she broke in before he could start rambling. He could practically hear the cogs working in Pacifica’s brain, “You invited your ex into your apartment?” 

“I – didn’t invite him, he just sorta…came in?” 

The pause was full of disdain. “Dipper, nothing good can come from a late night visit with your ex.” 

“I know, but–” 

“Tell him to get the hell out and lock the door behind him. He’s an ex for a reason.” 

“I – I know!” He gnawed on his lip and cast a glance at the door, worried Will could hear everything he was saying. “But I think I’m sending him mixed messages, and…and I don’t know how I’m feeling right now. It’s complicated–” 

“You asked my advice,” Pacifica cut him off again, “and here it is: boot him out, pronto.” 

Dipper let out a deep sigh and scrubbed at his eyes again. “You’re right,” he admitted, “you’re always right.” 

“Thanks for noticing.” There was a pause, and then her tone was gentler. “Are you okay? Think you can do it?” 

Dipper let out the breath he had been holding with a shudder. “I’m fine.” 

“ _That’s_ convincing.” 

Dipper groaned. “I know, I’m just – I hate this situation. But I’m gonna deal with it right now.” 

Pacifica was quiet for a beat before she said, “Okay, then. Guess I’ll let you go.” Her voice went soft as she added, “Good luck.” 

“Thanks. Good night.” 

He hung up and took another moment to prepare himself. He splashed his face with cold water, righted his shirt, and gave himself one last appraisal in the mirror. He didn’t look nearly as flustered as he had a few minutes ago. Maybe it was enough; it would have to be. 

Dipper returned to the fray with renewed determination. 

However, his determination took a hit when he found Will splayed out on his couch in nothing but a tank top and his jeans. His dark, toned arms looked warm and inviting, and his black curls were just _begging_ for his fingers to run through them. And Will's smile: lazy, welcoming, sultry, and too clever for his own good.  
  
“Oh, shit,” Dipper mumbled. He was done for.

Will must have heard him, because he smiled and sat up halfway. 

“Feeling better?” he asked. 

Dipper swallowed hard. Despite his conversation with Mabel that evening and his phone call with Pacifica a minute ago, Dipper was more confused than ever. It all converged and diverged in strange ways, his old life with Will and his new life in this apartment with Pacifica: a good neighbour, a good friend, a good – a good maybe. He wanted to move on and start fresh with new friends and new maybes; but fear, cloaked like an ally, emerged. 

Pacifica was only hypothetical. Will was _right here_. 

He must have been quiet for a long time, because Will’s gentle smile morphed into a frown and sat up fully. For the second time, he asked, “Are you okay?” 

The truth was Dipper was not okay. He was so _far_ from okay. 

But at this moment, with Will on his couch and his friend’s advice swept away by the tide of resurfacing feelings, he was equally far from caring. 

“I am now.” 

Without warning, Dipper marched over to the couch, peeling off his shirt as he did so, and straddled Will. He could have laughed at Will’s startled look, had he not been too busy trying to undress him as fast as possible. After a few seconds of confusion, two solid hands ran up his bare back and pulled him closer. He buried his fingers in dark curls, felt Will’s arms wind around his waist, breathed in the warm spice that had clung to his bedsheets for weeks after he moved out, and sighed into the scant space between them. 

His final thought before his lips met Will’s: _I’m doomed_. 

* * *

Dipper awoke the next morning tangled in bedsheets, sunlight, and warm arms. His stomach churned again as flashes of last night – strong hands, soft lips, faint gasps – returned full force. He was quick to crawl out of Will’s arms and roll out of bed, despite the sleepy moan of protest from his bedmate. In an effort to feel normal, Dipper got ready for university: he showered, dressed, washed his face, and set the coffee machine going. As his toast popped up from the toaster, Will emerged from his bedroom in last night’s clothes. Even with serious bedhead and rumpled jeans, he looked handsome as ever. He stretched as he approached the table and settled into one of the chairs. 

“Morning, babe,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. 

Dipper felt a hot coil of shame alight in his gut at the pet name. Waking up in Will’s arms this morning had solidified his sense that this was _very wrong._ He felt sick to his stomach as he remembered the word of warning from Pacifica that he hadn’t heeded, and Mabel’s concern that he had ignored. Dipper turned away and poured himself a cup of coffee. 

When he turned back, Will was staring at him with something akin to bedroom eyes. Dipper quickly dropped his gaze and took the first sip of his coffee as he tried to piece together a response. 

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Will asked with a raised brow. “You didn’t have any trouble talking last night. Or moaning, for that matter.” 

At this, Dipper set his mug down with a clatter and folded his arms. “Last night was–” 

“Amazing?” Will’s smile was positively smug. 

“Confusing.” Dipper took his time forming his next sentence. “I thought I was over you, but I guess I still have some things to work out.” 

Will’s smile faded. “What do you mean? I thought we’d figured it out, we talked–” 

“No, we didn’t. I tried to talk, you didn’t listen. Then I…” Dipper swallowed hard and pushed out, “I gave you mixed messages, and then we were making out, and then it felt too late to bring it back to the conversation.” 

Will leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. “So what are you saying?” 

Dipper was shaking a bit now, and he gripped his arms to hide his quivering hands. “I’m saying that I don’t know if I’m ready to be together, or if I even _want_ to be together again.” 

A stunned silence followed Dipper’s admission, and he felt exposed. There was silence for three seconds, five seconds; then, Will shifted and stood. 

“I get it, I guess,” Will said with a resigned sigh. “You were upset. You’re still upset. Just…just think about it, okay? Please?” 

Dipper wavered. He wanted to say no with conviction, but he didn’t have the stomach for it this early in the morning, with barely a sip of coffee in him. He finally said, “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” 

Will nodded without looking up at Dipper and collected his jacket from where he had tossed it onto the couch. Dipper set down his mug and followed Will to the door in silence. Keeping Dipper in his sight from the corner of his eye, Will slipped into his jacket and opened the door. As Will started to walk away from the door, Dipper was moved to speak. 

“Thanks for understanding, I’ll let you know soon.” 

Will nodded and brushed his palms on his jeans; Dipper had never seen him look so rattled. When Dipper was about to turn to go back inside, Will whipped around and caught him by the head for another kiss. This one felt different; it was desperate, but not mutual. Last night, Dipper had felt like a drowning man who had just found a life-raft as he held Will, and Will had clung to him, too; like the other was the only thing keeping them afloat. Now, it felt like Will was going to drag him down into the depths. He wanted nothing more than for Will to let go. 

Dipper jumped when he heard the door next to his burst open and broke away from Will to see who it was. Pacifica stood frozen and wide-eyed, her purse still swinging from her elbow from the violent stop she made on her way out. His face went hot as he realized what this must look like after their talk last night. 

“Hey, Pacifica…” Dipper slipped out of Will’s hold and stuffed a hand into the pocket of his pants. He jabbed the opposite thumb to the man beside him and said, “This is my friend, Will.” 

Will raised his hand to wave, but he let it drop when he saw Pacifica’s stony expression. She gave the pair of them a slow glance over from floor to ceiling and pursed her lips. 

“We’ve met.” 

Dipper’s throat closed and he dropped his gaze; Pacifica looked so disappointed. Will shuffled his feet and harrumphed with the subtlety of a foghorn. Before Dipper could salvage this train wreck, Pacifica spoke. 

“We’ll, I’d love to chat,” she hiked up the bag on her shoulder, “but I’ve got a bio midterm in an hour. See you later, Dipper.” 

He didn’t miss her pointed look and he swallowed his shame. 

“Yeah, see you.” 

She breezed past them and Dipper felt his stomach sink like a stone as the severity hit him. After asking Pacifica for advice, advice that was surprisingly clear-cut and kind, he had deliberately gone against it and gotten himself even deeper into the problem. Pacifica probably wouldn’t be helping him any time soon. 

Fortunately, Will was a bit chagrined by the awkward conversation. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and said, “I guess I’d better go. Call me?” 

Dipper met his eyes and felt his gut sink even lower at the expectant look. He cleared his throat and took a step back. “Yeah, I’ll call. I still need to think about some things, so just…give me a couple days.” 

“Okay.” The flex of Will’s jaw hinted that he was disappointed by that response. Dipper tore his eyes away. He was disappointing everyone today, it seemed. 

Will ran a hand through his hair as he deliberated, then he finally asked with an edge, “Is she one of those ‘things’ you need to think about?” 

Dipper’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out. His silence was answer enough. 

Will huffed and glared off to the side. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Yeah,” Dipper struggled to form the next two words. “Bye, Will.”

There was something final in the way he said that, and it seemed that Will noticed, because he looked at Dipper for an extra few seconds, as if trying to memorize him. But then he turned and headed down the stairs, leaving Dipper alone again.

He leaned back against the doorframe and growled in frustration.

 


	7. Lights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The power goes out and we have to light some candles and noooo, this lighting isn't setting a mood at allllll....
> 
> Based on an ask from a very thoughtful anon on Tumblr!

Livid; that’s what she was. Absolutely, positively _livid_ that Dipper had the nerve to ask her for advice – good advice, she might add – and then completely ignore it to spend the night with his sketchy ex. Who even wrote notes anymore, anyway? Wasn’t that the purpose of cell phones? Soon Dipper’s idiot boyfriend would be sending carrier pigeons, and Pacifica wasn’t about to clean up that (literal) shit storm.

 

She huffed and returned her attention to the nearly complete biology test on her desk. The final question, an essay question, was already three-quarters complete. But she couldn’t even remember what she had written about. Hard as she tried to focus on finishing it, the image of Dipper kissing Will in his doorway kept popping up to obscure every coherent thought she had.

 

She was disappointed; not in Dipper, but disappointed because he was with someone else. As the scientific names blended into an indecipherable mass of jargon, Pacifica realized her feeling was stronger than disappointment: it was Jealousy. Envy wasn’t new to Pacifica, but acknowledging it was. Usually she ignored her jealousy until it stopped feeling so raw or filled the void with something material: a night out with the girls, a new pair of shoes, a hook-up with a cute stranger.

 

She growled and pressed the pen a little harder into the page. What did she have to be jealous of? It wasn’t like Dipper would stop talking to her or helping with her homework if he got back together with Will. The poor guy couldn’t say no to someone in need. Besides, Dipper wasn’t _hers,_ she didn’t own him. He was a friend – scratch that, an acquaintance. Why was she terrified that Will was going to take Dipper away from her?

 

Pacifica didn’t remember writing the conclusion to her final essay question, just the word of thanks from the TA when she handed in her test paper. She ducked out of biology class and made her way down the hall, her mind whirling with half-truths and frustration. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a strange day. She spent the afternoon cooped up in the library, alternating between looking up flights to Aruba leaving in the next twenty four hours, freak illnesses she could fake to get out of her math midterm tomorrow, and actually revising her notes. When Pacifica couldn’t stand the reek of stale parchment and anxiety that filled the library any longer, she packed her things and headed into the gloomy evening.

 

Her bus seemed to race against the dark storm clouds that rolled in, and the radio blasted nothing but thunderstorm warnings and weather warnings. When she finally reached the lobby of her apartment building, Pacifica was swaying on her feet from exhaustion.  She was so tired she almost forgot to check her post box. However, she realized that her copy of _Vogue_ was due to arrive any day now, so she unlocked the box. Her head flooded with dread when she saw not her magazine, but a familiar cream coloured envelope. She lifted the envelope gingerly and read the addressee embossed in gold:

 

_Pacifica Elise Northwest_

  
She rolled her eyes. Of _course_ her parents had to add the middle name for that extra bit of pretention. Pacifica stuffed the envelope into her coat pocket and stomped into the lobby.

 

When she laid eyes on the stairs, Pacifica’s muscles whimpered in despair. The day had been long and gruelling, and she didn’t have it in her to climb three flights of stairs. Her eyes drifted to the elevator that sat silently in the corner and deliberated. She had only ever set foot in the elevator once, on her first day in the building, and she regretted it to this day. There were certain smells that you couldn’t forget no matter how hard you tried, and that machine seemed to hold all of them. She had held her breath on that one agonizingly slow ride as the gears creaked ominously, trying to identify the dark brown stain on the carpet. By the time she reached the fourth floor, she had settled on the conclusion that she didn’t _want_ to know the origin of the mysterious brown stain, and further, that she never wanted to ride the elevator again unless it was an emergency.

 

Today almost felt like an emergency. However, she knew the elevator was questionable on a good day. When inky black clouds filled the sky and there was a thick smell of ozone in the air, the elevator was non-negotiable. The stairs were the way to go. She didn’t want to be trapped in that monstrosity for hours!

 

Despite the screaming of her aching bones, Pacifica mounted the stairs with her bag in tow. She fumbled with her keys at the door, cursing softly under her breath, then burst into her apartment unceremoniously. Once inside, Pacifica dumped her bag and tossed the envelope onto her kitchen table without bothering to open it. She didn’t want to know what the invitation – it was obviously an invitation, they would have called her if it was about something else – contained.

 

Pacifica made dinner to the soundtrack of a Motown album turned up to full volume to drown out the lightning storm that had started brewing outside. If there was one thing Pacifica hated, it was thunderstorms. She wasn’t scared, of course not. The noise just startled her, that’s all.

 

Satiated and reenergized, Pacifica set herself up for another night-time study session. She turned on her easy-listening playlist, steeped a mug of tea, and spread out her books on the kitchen table to prepare for a solo cram session. No need for Dipper, she decided with a curt nod. If he couldn’t be bothered to heed her advice, she’d avoid asking his.

 

Despite her best intentions, Pacifica didn’t get far into her studying. Only minutes into her review sheet, there was another loud crack of thunder, a fizzle, and a pop. The room was plunged into darkness, and the music went dead.

 

Pacifica was completely still for a beat or two.

 

“You’ve got to be _kidding me_!’

 

Abandoning her perch on the couch, Pacifica felt her way to the drawer where she stored her candles and lighter. She bumped a table leg along the way, but after groping the countertop she finally found the drawer she was looking for. Pacifica pulled out one of the short, fat candles and flicked the lighter’s mechanism to light it.

 

_Click. Click._ Nothing.

 

“Really?” She tossed the empty lighter into the trash and stood with her hands planted on her hips in annoyance for a moment.

 

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of using her cell phone light to read her textbook. What remained of her battery would be drained within minutes, and she wasn’t keen on squinting over her math book in the pathetic glow of her cellphone. Maybe she could just live in the dark until they figured out how to get the power back? She would love to lay back and listen to music until her laptop died or she drifted off to sleep.

 

But math was too important to ignore and too difficult to fake her way through. She needed to study. She needed a lighter, or matches...something.

 

There was a crash from next door, and Pacifica heard a familiar yelp of surprise. She sighed. After this morning, Dipper was one of the last people she wanted to talk to, second only to her parents. But circumstances had changed. Dipper was always prepared; _surely_ he had a lighter.

 

The room was cast in a sudden white light, and a few seconds later there was another loud crash of thunder that made her jump. The storm was getting closer. That settled it: this was a matter of necessity and there was no room for pride.

 

With a decided breath, Pacifica navigated the room in the dark, trailing her hands along the walls until she reached what she hoped was Dipper’s door. She knocked on the door with her free hand while she cradled the unlit candle with the other. There was a bump and a curse, and Pacifica couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes at his clumsiness. The door swung open, only to blind her with a yellow light.

 

“Seriously? Now’s not a good time!” Dipper said breathlessly.

 

“Jesus, watch where you’re pointing that thing!”

 

“Pacifica?” The light dropped, and as the green and blue spots cleared from her vision, Pacifica could make out the small reflection of light in his eyes from the flashlight. She glowered.

 

“No shit.” Pacifica held out her candle and asked, “Got a light?”

 

Dipper hastened to apologize. “Sorry, I thought you were–”

 

“Will? Fortunately for you, no, I’m not,” Pacifica replied snidely.

 

Dipper’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and for a moment Pacifica expected to have the door closed in her face. But after a beat, he threw his thumb over his shoulder and said, “You said you need a light? Come on in.”

 

As Dipper ducked back into his apartment, Pacifica hesitated at the door for a moment. This was Dipper’s apartment; she’d never been in there before. And the last visitor made her sick to her stomach. She wasn’t sure she could enter.

 

Her mind was made up for her when there was another flash and a new crash of lightning. With a start she marched after him, closing the door behind her.

 

Even in the dying winter daylight, Pacifica could make out the piles of clothes and books that littered the floor. She grimaced, but refrained from commenting on his messiness.

 

Dipper was bent over an open drawer as he called over his shoulder, “I don’t think I have a lighter, but I might have some matches. Let me see…”

 

Her eyes had started to adjust to the darkness after the assault by Dipper’s flashlight, and she liked what she saw. While he rummaged through the drawer for matches, Pacifica found herself admiring the curve of his back when he was bent over. When her eyes started to drift downward to his denim-clad rear, Pacifica averted her gaze and whispered a curse she hoped he couldn’t hear. She was furious that her eyes would betray her like this; thinking Dipper was attractive, of all things! It must have been the midterm pressure talking.

 

“Found ‘em!” Mercifully, Dipper straightened up and turned around, the matchbox held aloft in triumph. His victory lasted only seconds, because when he opened the package his face fell. “There’s only one in here, but it should do.”

 

Pacifica took the offered package, trying to keep her eyes above the neckline for her own safety. “Thanks. Wait, what about you? Do you want to light your candles, then mine?”

 

Dipper shook his head with a condescending laugh. He twirled his flashlight between his thumb and fingers as he declared, “I don’t need candles. I have the gift of modern technology.”

 

Fortune was in a foul mood that night. First, it dealt a deadly blow to Pacifica’s study plans for the evening; now, it decided to take a swing at Dipper.

 

The bulb of his flashlight flickered once, twice, then went out.

 

“Aw, man! Those were the last of my batteries,” he whined.

 

A vindictive soul, Pacifica couldn’t help but feel smug at the turn of events. With an amused lilt, she said, “That’s too bad. I’d offer you a candle, but since your “modern technology” is _sooo_ much better…”

 

His eyes were sharp, but when he spoke his voice was meek. “Can I borrow some candles? Please?”

 

Pacifica folded her arms and sighed like his request was a burden. “I _guess_ so. But it would cost you.”

 

Dipper narrowed his eyes. “Name your price.”

 

Pacifica traced a circle on his kitchen counter with her finger as she drawled, “I just so happen to have a very important math midterm tomorrow that I’m nowhere near ready for. Think you can help me out?”

 

He stuck out his hand to shake. “Deal.”

 

Pacifica arched a single brow at the proffered hand. After years of careful training, she had perfected the “there’s no way I’m touching _that’_ look and could perform it on demand. After a few seconds left hanging, Dipper dropped his faux seriousness and shoved both hands into his pockets. “So, you want to bring your stuff over here? The table’s clean.”

 

Pacifica wasn’t sure what surprised her more: that Dipper was inviting her over to his place; or that he felt the need to clarify that his table was clean. She didn’t want to dwell on that second part.

 

“Yeah, I’ll go grab some. Be back in a minute.”

 

As she turned to leave, thunder crashed outside and she jumped in surprise. Her toe drove into a table leg – the same toe from just a few minutes ago – and a bolt of pain spiked through her foot. She gasped. “ _Motherfu-_ ”

 

“Here.”

 

Dipper struck the lone match and guided her candle toward the flame. He touched the match to the tip, and soon the wick darkened and danced with fire. When she moved, the flame shivered, and she cupped a hand around it to shield it from any sudden drafts.

 

“Thanks,” she mumbled. Then she turned again, slowly this time, and made the trek back to her room. Thunder cracked once in the hallway, and twice while she collected her pile of books and balanced her unlit candle on top. She dropped the candle the first time she stacked them up because of a well-time clap of thunder, scattering them over the floor, and she blindly crawled around on her hands and knees to gather them. She was much more careful the second time she piled them up.

 

By the light of a single candle, Pacifica made her way back to the open door of Dipper’s apartment, balancing a textbook, a notebook, practice sheets, and enough candles to brighten up a cathedral. When she passed the threshold she found Dipper throwing what looked to be the last of the junk on his floor into an open doorway deeper inside his apartment. She raised her eyebrows.

 

“Cleaning up for me?” she teased with a faint smile. “You shouldn’t have.”

 

Dipper whipped around at her voice, clearly surprised he hadn’t heard her coming, but he was quick to school his expression. “Just don’t want you to trip again, Princess Graceless.”

 

Try as she might, Pacifica’s attempt at a scowl turned into an amused smile. Still, she bustled to the table and said gruffly, “Let’s get some light in here.”

 

One by one, she brought the tip of each wick to the open flame until a half dozen candles danced with light on Dipper’s kitchen table. They cast a warm glow that made the slick cover of her math book shine softly with a flickering yellow light and her review pages look oddly important, like secret letters of revolution written by candlelight.

 

Pacifica glanced up at Dipper, who had crossed over to the table, to find him watching her intently. Although his eyes were on her, Pacifica had the impression that he wasn’t seeing her as she was, simply lighting some candles; he was studying a possibility. The realization sent a jolt through her and she brushed some imaginary dust from her hands. “All done. Should we start?”

 

Dipper’s eyes came back into focus and his mouth twitched into an automatic smile. “Sure.”

 

As Pacifica tucked into her chair, Dipper dragged the chair from the other side and plopped right next to her, close enough to see the pages over her shoulder. Intent to focus on her work, Pacifica spread out her books and flipped open her notebook. Something slid out from between her notebook and her textbook with a whoosh and skittered across the table. When she saw the sealed envelope, her heart jumped into her mouth.

 

Ever curious, Dipper picked it up before Pacifica could grab it. He read the back of the envelope and a dopey smile took over his face. “Your middle name is Elise?”

 

“Nosy much?” Pacifica snatched the invitation from his fingers without much protest and shoved it back into her pants pocket. She was irrationally pleased that it crumpled where she sat.

 

Dipper’s expression flickered from surprise to reproach. “Sorry, I just think it’s a pretty name.”

 

“Oh.” Chagrinned, Pacifica had the humility to sound apologetic. “Thanks.”

 

“So who’s the invitation from?” he asked.

 

Pacifica rolled her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. “How should I know? I haven’t opened it yet.”

 

“Yeah, but not just anybody sends an invitation like that,” he nodded toward the envelope stuffed in her pocket. “I figured you’d know them well enough to recognize their writing, or guess who would be extra enough to send you an invite with calligraphy on it. Any suspects?”

 

Pacifica wavered. The invitation wasn’t any of Dipper’s business, and explaining the situation would open the floor to issues that she didn’t dare talk about without at least a quart of gin and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s at her disposal. However, his earnest expression was endearing, and the urge to share something with Dipper grew. Besides, she knew an almost uncomfortable amount about Dipper’s personal life; why shouldn’t she throw him a bone?

 

“It’s from my parents,” she replied, avoiding his eyes. “I’m not sure what it’s for, but the last time I got one of these it was an invitation to the most boring night of my life.”

 

That was a bit of an exaggeration; true, the soiree her parents had hosted had been boring beyond belief, but that was a couple of years ago when a few of her friends still came to Northwest family events. Instead of milling around the adults the whole evening in silent complacency, the girls had snuck into the garden, ordered a pizza, and crowded around one of the girl’s smartphones to watch _Pretty Little Liars_. It was one of her favourite memories of her times at the manor, but it was bittersweet. Pacifica hadn’t seen or heard from those girls in almost two years. Once she had moved away for university and her friends had moved on to school, marriage, and careers, she had lost touch.

 

“Oh.” Dipper wrinkled his nose. “Do they usually send you formal invitations by mail?”

 

Pacifica gave a wry smile. “Only when they want something from me. Odds are I’m going to be paraded around for a few hours and asked to do nothing but smile and stay quiet the entire evening.”

 

Dipper blew out an exaggerated breath in a show of exertion. “That’s going to be a challenge for you.”

 

“Shut up!”

 

When she nudged him with a laugh, he grinned at her so big that his dimples sunk into his cheeks. Pacifica rolled her eyes and urged, “Let’s get working on this,” as she turned away to hide the faint colour that seeped into her cheeks.

 

“Alright, what’s the problem?” he asked as he flipped through the pages.

 

“The problem is that math is stupid and should be banned from university,” Pacifica replied tersely. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration as she pointed to the math problem that had been eluding her since earlier that afternoon. “I’ve been screwing around with these stupid rules for imaginary numbers in quadratics and I keep forgetting these damn exponents! I hate math!”

 

For good measure, she violently scribbled over her work hard enough to tear the page.

 

The only thing that pulled her out of her downward spiral of frustration was a sobering clap of thunder. She settled down a bit, and a little embarrassed by her reaction, Pacifica wordlessly erased the scribble. Dipper waited patiently until she had brushed away the eraser shavings; then he asked, “Why are you taking math, anyway? This is hard stuff and I’m pretty sure you don’t need it for biomedical science.”

 

Anger rose like bile in her throat. “Why do you care?” she demanded.

 

Dipper frowned and said, “Sorry, I just...you’re working so hard, and you don’t even _like_ it. You shouldn’t have to suffer through a course you hate, especially when you don’t even need it for your degree. So why are you taking it?”

 

Pacifica honestly felt so attacked right then. She spluttered, “Because it’s a challenge, and I need to push myself, and – and if I can do this level of math, there’s a better chance I can do the math in medical school, and...and…”

 

Now that she said it out loud, it sounded like Pacifica was overcompensating for something; that something being her unadulterated hatred of being bad at math.

 

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” she said with a toss of her head, “it’s not like I can drop it, anyway. I’d have to take summer courses or an extra semester.”

 

Dipper nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I guess that would suck. Courses are _expensive._ ”

 

“Yeah…expensive,” she echoed.

 

Pacifica felt a rush of shame. She’d never admit it to Dipper, but her grades had been good enough when she had first applied to UCLA that she had been awarded a renewable scholarship. At their insistence, her parents covered her apartment and incidental expenses with the money she got working as an intern at her father’s real estate company during the summer. It was good pay, but the money was deposited directly into an account for her to use during the school year, so she never got to see any of it during the summer months. Pacifica felt guilty that the money still came from her parents, but she was determined to complete her first degree without debt so she could be better prepared to pay for medical school on her own.

 

“So, you want to be a doctor, you said?” Dipper asked.

 

Pacifica nodded. “It’s a way to help people, and I love learning how the body works. It’s amazing what it can do to adapt and heal itself, and then to add what we know of medicine to help heal it…”

 

Her heart fluttered just thinking about. When she looked up, Dipper’s smile had softened and his eyes sparkled.

 

“You’re a dweeb!” he teased.

 

“What? No! You’re the dweeb, studying…”

 

She faltered here. To her mortification, she couldn’t remember what Dipper was studying.

 

Dipper’s eyebrows slowly crept up his forehead as the silence stretched out a few seconds. Although he tried to keep a straight face, his mouth twitched into a smirk.

 

“No, please continue,” Dipper encouraged her with a barely concealed grin.

 

Pacifica narrowed her eyes. “You’re the dweeb, studying something so obscure that I can’t even remember what it’s called. What is it, Alchemy? Ancient Runes?”

 

“It’s called a Bachelor of Science with a major in Biochemistry, Pacifica,” he teased her.

 

Pacifica made a face. “Wait, what? How the hell are you so good at math?!”

 

He shrugged and explained, “Math’s always been easy. I take some of the courses for fun, so I’ve accidentally gotten a minor.”

 

She made a sound of disgust. “I can’t even look at you.”

 

Dipper laughed and said, “So I’m better than you at math. So what? You could probably dance circles around me when it comes to other things, like...I don’t know, relationship drama.”

 

His tone was casual, but Pacifica went still at the mention of relationship drama. It was too much of a coincidence; he must have been talking about Will. Perhaps he sensed the distance she had created between them after this morning’s run-in. For a moment, she wondered if she should say something. She didn’t get the chance.

 

“So, Chapter 16!” Dipper changed the subject abruptly, turning back to her book.

 

“Yeah…yeah,” she stammered, articulate as ever. Thus, she went on to describe her latest grievance with math, namely imaginary numbers. Once she had explained the problem, Dipper started to rattle off terminology and numbers as he flipped through the pages and pointed to equations here and there. At some point between telling her the role of imaginary numbers in quadratic equations and the purpose of the square root, his words faded to a faint buzz. She hadn’t noticed before, but in the warm candlelight the dark circles and heavy bags under his eyes were prominent. His face was haggard and tired; so, so tired. She wondered if it had anything to do with last night and immediately regretted the thought. The idea of Dipper spending the night with Will made her skin prickle with jealousy.

 

It wasn’t Pacifica’s place to ask him about it, yet she had never really known her place, nor bothered to look up the definition of the word tact. Not unlike Dipper, curiosity was her ruler.

 

“...and that’s how you determine the variable if it’s an imaginary number. Did you get all that?”

 

She flinched when she realized Dipper was waiting for confirmation that she had heard and understood him; confirmation that she could not give. With a cough, she admitted, “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. I’ve just been…wondering about you and Will. What happened last night? When you called me, I thought…I thought you wanted to get rid of him.”

 

Dipper stiffened. “I did. I do, I just…” he dropped his gaze with a sigh. “We talked, and then because it was late he spent the night, okay? It was nothing.”

 

Dipper’s answers were too vague for Pacifica’s liking. She raised a critical brow. “It looked like more than just a friendly chat.”

 

Dipper gnawed on a hangnail as his eyes flitted around restlessly. “We…we talked about, like, breakup stuff.”

 

When his whirling dervish gaze landed on her he was met with a deadpan look. With a shake of his head, he bent over her math book and said, “It doesn’t matter. Now, for the exponents, you have to – hey!”

 

Pacifica swept the textbook to the far side of the table and blocked his reaching arm with her shoulder. His face scrunched up in annoyance and he looked about ready to tell her off, but Pacifica was faster.  

 

“Hey.” The word came out softer than she meant it to and it felt awkward following her grand gesture of knocking the books aside. After a few seconds of silence, she continued, “You can talk about it, you know. With me. If you want to.”

 

When Dipper gave her a doubtful look, she said, “Look, I know I was judgemental this morning, and I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Her face heated up at the apology – whether from shame over what she had done, or shame over apologizing, she wasn’t sure – and Pacifica hoped he wouldn’t notice in the half light. “I’m just saying that if you need to talk or anything, I’m here.”

 

Another boom of thunder filled the quiet. After a few seconds, Dipper asked, “Why do you care?”

 

That was an excellent question that Pacifica couldn’t (wouldn’t?) answer, at least not with the whole truth. Not to Dipper, and not to herself.

 

“You just seem upset, and I think…” she swallowed, working up the nerve to finish her sentence, “I think talking about it will help. It’s supposed to be therapeutic or something, right? And if I don’t know the whole story, I can’t really help.”

 

“Pacifica…” His expression serious, Dipper leaned in until his elbow touched hers on the tabletop. He was so close that Pacifica could see the freckles splattered on his nose and cheeks, and her stomach twisted with nerves. The nervousness must have shown in her face, because his lips turned up in a lopsided smile as he teased, “Are you being nice to me?”

 

Pacifica tried to calm her galloping heart. “No. I just want an excuse to not study.”

 

Dipper nodded, but his mouth held that infuriating smile for another moment. “Sure…”

 

“Do you want help or not?” she snapped.

 

Dipper held up his hands in and leaned back in his chair as if to say _I give in._ He clasped his hands on the tabletop and examined them for a minute, his face creased with thought. Maybe struggling to find where to begin. His lower lip disappeared between his teeth and he didn’t speak for a long time. Ordinarily, Pacifica was not a patient woman; however, the flicker of candlelight that shimmered in his eyes held her focus and her tongue.

 

“Will and I dated for about a year. I lived with him and a mutual friend until I moved in here.” He twisted his mouth to the side and continued, “He and I had a lot in common with school and hobbies, but we disagreed on some important things. He wanted me to basically rag on all my ex-girlfriends because he believed that was the only way I could prove I’d chosen him. Will didn’t like the thought that I might fall in love with a girl, and kept worrying that I was faking it. He was so insecure that he accused me of cheating on him with girls in my classes, or, like, my ex-girlfriend from high school that I’m still friends with.”

 

Pacifica raised a sceptical brow and asked, “That didn’t set off alarm bells? No offense, Dipper, but that should have made you suspicious.”

 

“I guess I was a little insecure, too,” Dipper admitted with a bashful shrug. “Sometimes I worried maybe I _was_ faking it – the liking girls part, at least. I really cared about Will, I knew I would never cheat on him. There were times when I thought it would just be easier if I told him I was gay and left it at that.”

 

His face hardened as he said, “A few months back I caught Will cheating on me with one of the exchange students on the men’s soccer team. He tried to make it like it wasn’t his fault; said it didn’t mean anything, that he only did it because I wasn’t emotionally available and he thought I was cheating or going to leave him. I crashed with Mabel for a week until I could look at him without wanting to punch him, then I moved out of my place.”

 

Pacifica was appalled. “What an ass,” she declared.

 

Dipper looked appreciative. “He is. But it’s frustrating because even though he hurt me, I still kind of care about him? I liked him a lot, I might have even loved him or something...I dunno.” He tangled his fingers together and lowered his voice as he confessed, “He’s an ass, but a very charming ass. Usually I can see past that, but with Will, he...made me feel important. Special.”

 

His smile turned sad and he said, “Will always told me how smart and talented I was; said I could do anything I wanted because I was so dedicated. Sometimes I’m afraid that the only reason I think I’m important is because he _said_ I was.”

 

Pacifica couldn’t tell if his eyes were glassy because of the candlelight, or because he was tearing up. She wasn’t willing to chance it; she hadn’t signed up for the waterworks.

 

“You know that’s not true,” she said, suddenly fierce. “You’re not good because someone else tells you you’re good; you just _are_ good _._ ”

 

He let out a deep breath through his nose. “I know it’s not true, I do. It’s just that sometimes I don’t _feel_ like it, even though I know. You know?”

 

Slowly, Pacifica nodded her head in understanding. She had felt like Dipper more times than she could count. Since childhood, her sense of self-worth had dangled upon the approval of her parents and friends. Only recently had she shaken the habit, and it wasn’t easy. Pacifica often fell back into her old pattern of holding her breath until her parents or her friends gave either the nod of approval or the pursed-lipped look of disdain before she passed judgement on herself.  

 

“I get it, it’s shit,” she replied. “So what happened with you last night? When he stayed over?”

 

Dipper’s teeth snagged on his lower lip and he refused to make eye contact. With another sigh, he said reluctantly, “When he came to my place last night, he wanted to talk about getting back together. But we didn’t talk much, we kind of…we just…”

 

At the sudden hesitance, Pacifica’s mouth drew in suspicion and she asked, “What did you do?”

 

Dipper winced. “We kind of…kissed a bit?”

 

Pacifica didn’t buy it. “And?”

 

“We totally made out,” he admitted in a rush.

 

“Dipper…” she chided him.

 

He closed his eyes and blurted, “Okay, we slept together!”

 

“ _Dipper_!”

 

He hid his face in his hands and hissed in regret. “I know, I know! After you warned me not to. I felt awful about it this morning, so I made him leave. And even though I told him I’d think about getting back together, my mind’s already made up. We’re done.”

 

Pacifica shook her head and muttered, “I can’t believe that jerk did this to you. And I can’t believe _you_ fell for it!”

 

He looked rightfully abashed. “I know he’s a jerk–”

 

“Damn right, he is.”

 

Despite her venom, Dipper had the nerve to laugh at her. When she glared in confusion, he said, “You are _way_ more into this than I expected.”

 

“Well...” Her explanation stopped there, because for all her bluster, Pacifica couldn’t think of a single unselfish reason to justify her outrage. So, she changed the subject.

 

“When are you going to break the bad news?”

 

“I was planning on calling him tomorrow afternoon before work,” Dipper replied with a shrug.

 

“Good,” Pacifica folded her arms and leaned back in her seat. “Dump his ass nice and hard.”

 

Dipper shook his head in amusement, intrigued by her anger. “It sounds like you have a lot of experience. Do you have rotten ex-boyfriends?”

 

“Not really, but I know about people treating you like shit.” There was a brief pause before she added, “It sucks when people who are supposed to love you and care about you manipulate and cheat you. You can’t say you love someone, then go and mess with their feelings and their head and hurt them. And you _can’t_ make them think it’s their fault because it _isn’t_ , and making them think that it’s their fault can really mess them up. It’s messed up. I mean, you’re just a _kid_ …”

 

She trailed off because she was starting to veer away from stupid ex-boyfriends and drive headlong into parent issues. A glance confirmed that Dipper was staring at her with a concerned expression. Shit, she had said _way_ too much.

 

“People just need to stop being assholes,” she concluded with a sniff.

 

The thunder rumbled in response. Quick to drop the subject, she picked up her pencil to salvage what she could of this study session.

 

The only thing that stopped her was Dipper’s voice.

 

“Pacifica.”

 

She kept her head and eyes down, but cocked her head toward him to show she was listening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his throat work as he swallowed. Pacifica cursed the flip of her stomach and the little voice in the back of her head that said _that was hot_.

 

Pacifica tensed when his hand slowly reached across the table. It wavered for a second like he was debating whether or not to touch her, and eventually he settled on placing it right in front of her notebook to catch her attention. She raised her head.

 

“You…” he cleared his throat, “you know that this is a two way street, right? If I can talk to you about personal stuff, you can do the same to me. If you want to.”

 

Part of her wanted to take him up on his offer, if only for the sincerity of his voice and the way the candlelight was reflected in his deep, dark eyes. Another prideful, stubborn part of Pacifica wanted to bury her problems and pretend they didn’t exist.

 

“Thanks, but no thanks.” When Dipper’s face fell, Pacifica insisted, “It’s nothing personal, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“You just made me tell you about my problems,” Dipper pointed out. “Don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical?”

 

“No.” She leaned back in her seat and fixed him with a haughty look down her nose. “Hypocritical is saying that you’re not interested in your ex, then sleeping with him the first chance you get.”

 

Dipper made a face. “Low blow, Pacifica.”

 

He was right. “Sorry, I just...it pisses me off when people are treated like crap, and they take it because they feel like they deserve it. You don’t deserve crap, Dipper!”

 

“Hey hey, I know that.”

 

Dipper’s hand landed on hers and Pacifica stiffened. It was warm, and comforting, and _present,_ which was more than she could say about the arm's-length affection from her parents. She couldn't find it in herself to push him away.

 

“I’m okay,” he insisted, “I messed up, but I’m way better than I was a couple months ago. I’m not going back with him, ever.”

 

“Then how do you explain what happened?”

 

He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know, a moment of weakness? Closure, maybe? I wanted it to end on my terms, I guess.”

 

She didn’t look convinced. With a scathing huff, she grumbled, “I should have kicked him in the crotch when I had the chance. I got a real douchey vibe from him.”

 

His roar of laughter almost drowned out the crash of the storm outside. “I would have probably let you,” he confessed.

 

With that, Dipper moved his hand from hers, and it instantly felt cold. After a few seconds, he asked, “So...about your parents?”

 

Typical Dipper: too smart for his own damn good. Pacifica tried to feign indifference with a one-shouldered shrug. “There isn’t much to tell. Wealthy absentee parents who gave me everything I wanted except the time of day. It’s the same old sob story as every other rich kid I know. Poor me: I had a pony and a dozen maids but never got a kiss goodnight from my mother.”

 

Dipper’s face pinched with worry. “That sucks.”

 

This time, her shrug was so stiff it looked more like a spasm. “I stopped caring a long time ago. Just because they only started paying attention to me again when they realized that they’d have to set me up with another wealthy heir to pool the family fortunes, doesn’t meant that I have to pay them any attention. They visit once a month and we go out for dinner, that’s it. And now this.”

 

She slapped the crumpled envelope down on the table in exasperation.

 

Dipper quirked his mouth and said, “Still, it’s gotta be hard to be with your parents when you’ve got all that resentment built up.”

 

Pacifica’s mask slipped an inch, and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. She was quick to secure the mask back in place. “Life’s hard. Family’s just an inconvenience. That’s why I’m here: this is as far away as I could get. They didn’t want me to go to UCLA or study biomed, but I fought them hard for this one.”

 

“What did they want you to do instead?” Dipper wondered.

 

With a sigh of resignation, Pacifica confessed, “They wanted me to study business at an Ivy League school, then get married right after I graduate and take over my share of the company.”

 

Laid out bare like that, a skeletal future that made her sick to her stomach, Pacifica couldn’t help but protest.   
  
“Ugh, it all feels so messed up!” she exclaimed, slamming her notebook closed. “My parents don’t get why I want to build my career, or they don’t care. They want me to follow in their footsteps, but I can’t…I can’t be that person. I don’t want to grow shares and build a fortune. I want to help people, and be good at my job, and feel like I finally have something that’s mine. Not something that was given to me.”

 

She cradled her face in her hands as she added, “Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning and I can’t handle it. Everything’s so overwhelming…but _then_ I’m like ‘Oh my god, I have so many good things, I’m so damn…. _privileged_ that I can’t complain!’ I have no business complaining! Because having parents that push their money on me and want me to have the best education and want to build a future for me can’t be that bad compared to parents who completely ignore me...right?”

 

Slow to answer, Dipper tilted his head in thought as he replied, “I…guess you could look at it like that. But it’s not a competition for who has it worse. It’s about how it affects you negatively, and from the sounds of it, your parents aren’t really helping you. It sounds like they’re hurting you.”

 

He had hit a nerve, and she was quick to shield it from further harm. “Hurt me? I have top notch education at a school of my choice, an apartment, clothes, food, and money to burn. How does that hurt me?”

 

 “I dunno,” she mumbled, “maybe the expectation and pressure that comes with those ‘gifts’? Like pressure to get married to a stranger, or to take over the family business? You say they support your studies, but they haven’t even gotten you a math tutor when you’re obviously struggling.”

 

“They used to hire me tutors when I was in grade school, but once I reached college they expected me to figure it out myself,” Pacifica replied with a shrug.

 

“Wow, really?” Dipper looked curious. “How did you manage the past couple of years?”

 

“With the help of some very patient teachers and teacher’s assistants,” she said with a wry smile. “The problem is my prof is too busy with his thesis students this semester and my teacher’s assistant is useless.”

 

She deflected his look of concern with a wave of her hand. “Enough about my dumb family. What about yours? How’s Mabel?”

 

Dipper didn’t look like he wanted to drop it, but when Pacifica moved to crack open her notebook again, he gave in.

 

“She’s good. Busy with her term project, but she’s been checking in with me a lot the past couple weeks.”

 

“Must be nice,” she muttered before she could stop herself. She instantly regretted it.

 

“Sorry, that was rude of me,” she said as she ran her fingers through her hair again, “I just said I didn’t want to talk about my parents and then I made it about me again.”

 

Dipper blinked. “No, it’s…it’s okay.” He snuck a look at her and asked, “Are you okay?”

 

Pacifica’s stomach churned with worry and excitement when she saw the genuine concern on his face. On all fronts, she was not fine: her parents were pressuring her about her career and dating status; she had a math midterm tomorrow that she expected to fail at this point; she had stuck her foot in her mouth more times than she could count today; and she had weird _feelings_ for her hot mess of a neighbour. It was a bad week for Pacifica Northwest.

 

“I’m just tired and stressed,” she said finally. “About school, and this stupid midterm tomorrow, and just – ugh, everything. Being an adult is overrated.”

 

Dipper nodded in solidarity. “I get it, school sucks sometimes. But are you sure it’s just that? You’re not upset with me, or something?”

 

_Yes_. “No, I’m not. I just…I’m stressed out about my stuff, and I still feel bad about this morning when I snapped at you. I just hated that Will was such a jerk to you.”

 

He hummed in reply, unsure what to say. Pacifica seized the moment to ask the question that had been bothering her since this morning.

 

“Why did you really call me last night? Did you want me to talk you out of it, or did you secretly hope I would encourage you?”

 

If his goldfish reaction was any sign, Dipper wasn’t expecting that question. His mouth opened and closed a few times, his eyes wide, and he blew out a breath. After a beat, he shook his head. “No, I didn’t want…I don’t know. I couldn’t get a hold of Mabel, and I…I didn’t know who else to call. I thought you might be able to help me figure it out.”

 

Pacifica was a little relieved by this confession; at least he hadn’t hoped she would be his wingwoman for an idiotic scheme to get back with his ex. To reassure him, she said, “For what it’s worth, the fact that you called shows that you knew the answer all along. If you wanted to be with Will, you wouldn’t have stopped to call anyone. I think you already knew what you wanted.”

 

He stared at her for a long moment, not moving a muscle, and Pacifica felt hot under his scrutiny. What if she had overstepped a boundary?

 

Finally, his mouth curved in a smile and he said, “You’re right. Thanks, Pacifica.”

 

She was taken aback by what felt like ill-placed gratitude. “Why are you thanking me? I should be thanking you – for letting me in your place, for helping with my math…seriously, I thought I was going to fail before you started helping me.”

 

He looked startled by the admission, but he recovered with a soft smile. “Anytime. You know that, right?”

 

Yes, Pacifica knew she could count on Dipper for help. Initially, she had thought it was because Dipper was a chronic people pleaser who couldn’t say no. However, now that she knew him better, she understood that Dipper was nothing of the sort. He didn’t do anything unless he wanted to, which meant that he _wanted_ to help Pacifica. The question was, why?

 

“Why do you help me, anyway?” she wondered. “And I’m not looking for some bullshit excuse about me being a disaster, or feeling bad for me. No one would suffer through calculus with me for this long out of a sense of pity.”

 

He took his time responding, studying the tabletop, then the flickering flame of one of the candles in the center of the table. “I was looking for a reason to be your friend,” he admitted in a low voice, the candlelight reflecting gold in his eyes, “because I’ve been feeling lonely in the apartment all by myself. I’ve never lived alone before and everything seemed too quiet. And you’re _anything_ but quiet.”

 

Pacifica elbowed him playfully and he flashed a grin. “It was an excuse to talk to you, and now that we have, I think we’re friends. Aren’t we?”

 

She wanted to deny it, if only to keep him from getting too cocky. But the openness of his expression, the amusement there that challenged her to correct him, set another cluster of butterflies fluttering in her ribcage. Because he was so staggeringly, unashamedly _himself_ , and he was so kind...Pacifica hadn’t met anyone like that in so long. It felt good.

 

“Yeah,” she said softly, “I guess we are.”

 

Here, Pacifica made her worst mistake of the night. Her eyes fell to his mouth, still smiling, and she sucked on her lower lip. She watched his smile fade into something more astonished than amused, and felt her heart accelerate. Because in her peripheries, she was positive she saw his gaze lower to the movement of her lips. He shivered.

 

Pacifica should have ended it right then and there, returned to math with the best tutor she had had in years, the only thing that had saved her grades this semester. Unfortunately, Pacifica was fresh out of common sense.

 

It started in slow motion: he turned slightly in his seat to face her and draped an arm over the back of her chair to steady himself. Silent for once, she slid closer until their knees bumped together, and then she started to lean forward, her eyes fixed on his lips. She couldn’t tell if he was leaning in, too, or sitting still, waiting for her. The progress was slow enough that Pacifica could see the hairs that dotted his chin, the freckles that traced his cheeks and outlined his jaw, and the shaky breath that shuddered through him. Her eyes began to close as she neared her target. It was inevitable; they were going to kiss.

 

There was a crash of thunder and Pacifica’s eyes opened with a yelp. Dipper jumped too and their eyes met for one heart stopping moment.

 

That snapped them out of it. Pacifica made a sharp quarter turn away from him so her knees were trapped under the table again and Dipper stole back his arm, casting his eyes to the side. Without looking at him, she slid her book back between them as a barrier.

 

“So, quadratics?” she said weakly.

 

“Yeah, quadratics,” Dipper echoed. He cleared his throat. “Where...where were we again?”

 

Pacifica couldn’t remember. Nevertheless, she vaguely gestured to a paragraph on the open page and Dipper leapt back into explaining the purpose of imaginary numbers. It was unclear whether he was talking gibberish or whether she was still too preoccupied to focus on his words, but she didn’t catch a single sentence. After twenty minutes of listening without really hearing him, Pacifica interrupted him.

 

“I’m calling it, I’m done.”

 

Dipper looked like some improbable cross between disappointed and relieved. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah,” she sighed in defeat. “I’m not gonna get any better in the next hour, and I’m tired. I’ll sleep on it and review in the morning.”

 

Dipper hummed. “You’re probably right. You okay to go back to your place?”

 

“I’m fine. There hasn’t been thunder since…”

 

_Since we almost kissed?_ Her brain suggested unhelpfully.

 

“...for a while,” she said finally.

 

“Alright, if you’re sure.” Dipper hopped up and blew out her candles, leaving one of them untouched to light the way. She tucked her books and the envelope into the crook of her arm and took the candle in her free hand, following him to the door. Once at her apartment door, Pacifica juggled the candle and the books while she rummaged around for her key. After a brief struggle, she had the door open.

 

“I’m just gonna…”Dipper looked around for a place to put the candles and finally bent over to set them on the ground, “leave these here.”

 

“Thanks.” Pacifica flashed a tight smile. “See you around.”

 

“Yeah, see you,” Dipper replied with a distracted wave as he closed the door behind him. Pacifica, beside herself with frustration, propped her back against the door and groaned long and low when his footsteps had disappeared. She bumped her head against the door when there was a flash of light and her electricity came back on.

 

“…SERIOUSLY?!” she cried.


	8. The Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper's distracted, and Pacifica only makes things worse.

Dipper was ready to throw his textbook against the wall. 

Ordinarily, the library was where he thrived. Among the stacks of aging paper with the warm yellow light from the desk lamps at each work station, he felt like a scholar uncovering the secrets of lost civilizations (never mind that he was just reading a reserve book about evolutionary biology). The atmosphere was quiet and purposeful; it energized his work.

But for the past week, his focus had been off. Every time he tried to sketch an essay outline, or read a passage from his textbook, his mind drifted to candlelight, big blue eyes, and rosy lips close enough for him to touch. Whenever he lost his concentration to this particular distraction, he gave his head a jerk to regain focus and picked up from where he left off, only to be sidetracked by another image of Pacifica. His crush was starting to bleed over into other parts of his life, including school, to the point where he couldn’t even look at a math equation without thinking about her. 

With a soft growl, Dipper closed his eyes. Maybe if he let the thoughts pass through him, they would finally settle and he could move forward. 

_The caramel light of the candles bounced on her features, turning her eyes gold. Her hand traced the line of his cheek and jaw and he shuddered as electricity zipped down his back. She lifted her chin and smirked at him, like it was a dare. He seized it, and once their mouths touched all he felt were hands – buried in his hair, dragging down his shoulders, gripping his hips, and dipping into the space between his thighs. Wandering, meandering, teasing–_

He stomped on the fantasy until it was ground into a pulp.

Dipper renewed his efforts to read the paragraph despite the race of his pulse and the intrusive thoughts that barged in every few seconds. 

**_Equilibrium frequencies of various diploid genotypes that emerge_ ** _– her hand gliding up his chest – **in a given gene pool, given random mating** – her mouth on his neck, spreading chills – **and no evolution, can be calculated** **from** –  the sound of his name, ragged and full of desire–_

He tore his eyes from the page and slammed the book shut. The noise earned him a couple of confused glances from other students bent over workstations, but Dipper was too flustered to care. He peeked at his watch and grunted. Class would start soon, and he couldn’t take this reference book out of the library. If he couldn’t focus long enough to read it now, he wouldn’t get another chance to take it out before his lecture tomorrow. 

…unless he photocopied the few pages he needed. Then he could read it after class! 

Pleased with his stroke of brilliance, Dipper tucked the book into the crook of his arm and slung his book bag over his shoulder. He mounted the stairs to the study loft, which was often quiet and had shorter lines for the photocopier. With any luck, he’d be out of there in minutes. 

At the top of the stairs, Dipper scanned the perimeter of the room until he spotted a free photocopier. He made a beeline for the machine and scanned his student card, then opened the copier bed and placed the book face down. As the machine whirred, his eyes wandered the room. With nothing to distract him, Dipper was treated to more sultry images: Pacifica, pushing her hair back to reveal her bare shoulders and collarbones. Pacifica, reaching back to unfasten her bra with a smile. Pacifica, waving wildly at him over her laptop –

Oh wait, that was actually happening. 

At first, Dipper was paralyzed with surprise by the sight of Pacifica waving for his attention. He blinked a couple of times, half expecting that if he closed her eyes, she would disappear. Seeing Pacifica on campus was as rare as a photographed cryptid sighting. 

But she didn’t disappear, just scowled at him as she lowered her hand. 

Realizing that he had done nothing but stare like an idiot in response, Dipper quickly held up a finger and mouthed, “One minute.” When she rolled her eyes and returned to typing, he laid out the last page to photocopy with shaking hands. 

Pacifica – his neighbour, his _friend_ – was here in the flesh…and he had just been thinking about her in a way that made him feel hot all over. Whether the flush was from embarrassment or titillation, he wasn’t sure. 

When the photocopier spit out the last page, he collected his copies and squeezed between two tables to make his way over to her. Upon his approach, she removed her earbuds. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” she greeted with a playful lilt. She was promptly shushed by a boy a couple of seats down who was hunched over a massive tome. Despite the stink eye he gave her, Pacifica just raised her brows nonchalantly and turned back to Dipper. 

“I thought you only studied in your hobbit hole,” she said in a quieter voice. 

Dipper knew Pacifica well enough by now to know that it was an affectionate jab. He grinned as he slid into the empty seat across from her. 

“I thought you said girls like you were too pretty to know about _Lord of the Rings_?” he teased. 

She wrinkled her nose and muttered, “It’s mainstream now. Get your grubby gate-keeper nerd hands off of it.” 

Dipper choked on a laugh, which earned another dirty look from the guy with the large book, as well as the girl beside him with half a dozen periodicals fanned out around her. Self-conscious, Dipper leaned in and murmured, “I had to photocopy a reserve book for my lecture tomorrow. I thought I might finish the job faster up here with no distractions. Lo and behold, I found the biggest distraction of all.” 

Pacifica’s eyes widened a fraction and Dipper clammed up. Oh no, did she think he was flirting with her? _Was_ he flirting with her? 

Already in too deep, Dipper decided to finish digging his hole. He blew out a dramatic breath and gestured to her in exasperation. “I mean, how am I supposed to get any work done when you’re just going to badger me about math as usual?” 

“Hey!” She quickly lowered her voice when she got a dark look from a pair of girls whispering over a laptop. “That’s not all we talk about. We talk about lots of things, like…” 

She trailed off as she realized what Dipper already knew: aside from math, they had only discussed her shitty parents, his shitty ex, and their mutual hatred of the majority of their neighbours. Not the best conversation upon which to build a friendship. 

“…stuff,” she said finally. 

Dipper snorted. “See? This is the first time I’ve seen you outside our place, and we live next to each other. That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” 

“Well, I’m here every day,” Pacifica replied, spreading her arms wide to encapsulate the brightly-lit loft of the library. “This is my kingdom.” 

Dipper looked around and was met with a row of disgruntled faces. He sucked a breath through his teeth. 

“Your court doesn’t look too happy, your Highness. I smell revolution.” 

There was another shush and some muttering from the end of the table. Pacifica shot them a look, and when the voices died down, she returned her gaze to him. Her mouth turned up at the corner and she said, “Well, I guess we’ll have to go out sometime, just the two of us.” 

His stomach flipped at the suggestion and a grin stole over his face. 

“Yeah, that would be great! You know, there’s this place on–” 

He broke off when a shrill ring cut through the air like a banshee’s scream, coming directly from Pacifica’s bag. She cringed. 

Pacifica was guilty of the ultimate sin: a cell phone ringing in the library. 

This earned her a chorus of hisses and a loud curse from someone near the far window. Pacifica checked the screen and blanched at the number that popped up on her caller ID. With pursed lips, she ended the call. 

“We’d better go before we get banned,” she whispered as she closed the lid of her laptop. 

Dipper stifled a laugh. “You think?” 

As Pacifica zipped up her lap top bag, Dipper scooped up her books and stacked them. Although she looked a little surprised, she held open her shoulder bag and he dropped them in. She slung the bag over her shoulder and marched from the loft with a click of her high heeled boots. Dipper rushed to catch up with her. 

With only a brief pause at the circulation desk to return the reserve book, Dipper and Pacifica burst out into the fresh air of the quad. Once outside, they could speak freely, and Pacifica seized the opportunity to let loose a few choice curses that made him raise a brow. 

“Honestly, you’d think we were in a damn funeral parlour,” she grumbled as she hiked her bag up on her shoulder. “The library is supposed to be a place of learning and open dialogue!” 

He snuck a look out of the corner of his eye and stifled a smile when he saw the little pout on her face. If she wasn’t so annoyed, it would be cute. 

Tentatively, he said, “I’m pretty sure the library is supposed to be a quiet place of study.” 

She turned her head sharply and fixed him with a glare. “Whose side are you on?” 

Before he could answer that question, her phone rang again. Pacifica dug it out of her coat pocket and grimaced at the number that popped up on her caller ID. 

“Who is it?” Dipper asked. 

Pacifica growled softly. “My mother. Do you mind if I take this?” 

“No, no. Go ahead,” he said with a nod. 

Her eyes closed and she inhaled a deep, calming breath through her nose. Then, she raised the phone to her ear. 

“Hello, mother.” 

Pacifica said “mother” like she was imagining no less than three nasty names to call her instead. Dipper was confused by her tone until he heard the response. 

“Pacifica, darling.” 

Even through the receiver and at a distance, her mother’s voice so sounded sickly sweet it left a bad taste in _his_ mouth. He saw Pacifica make a face at the pet name but she miraculously held her tongue. 

Pacifica listened to whatever her mother was saying, and Dipper watched her expression flicker with guilt. After a few seconds, she asked with feigned surprise, “Is that this weekend? I’ve been so busy with school it completely slipped my mind.” 

As her mother spoke, Pacifica’s face fell and she lowered her voice. “I’m not sure I can make it. I have so much going on this weekend.” 

There was silence. Then, in a voice so cutting that even Dipper could hear it from a couple feet away, her mother said primly, “We expect you to make an appearance this weekend.” 

Dipper couldn’t tell if Pacifica’s father was included in that “we”, or if her mother had slipped into the royal “we”. The tone made it sound like the latter. 

Pacifica’s lip snagged in her teeth and she glanced at Dipper. He was a little embarrassed to be caught looking at her, but Pacifica’s eyes barely landed on him before they pointed straight ahead again. 

“Book me a flight up Friday evening and one returning early Sunday morning,” she said finally. “I’ve got an essay to finish for Monday.” 

That response must have pleased Pacifica’s mother, because her voice was suddenly sweet again when she spoke. Pacifica listened for a few seconds, then hung up without saying goodbye. 

“Ta-ta!” she sing-songed with a look of disgust. She returned her phone to her pocket and muttered, “I guess I’m packing tonight.” 

“Packing for where?” Dipper asked. 

When she looked up at him, he was stunned by the resigned expression on her face. He had never seen Pacifica look as emotionally drained as she did now. She tried to force a smile, but it looked more like a wince, and she pulled her scarf more snugly around her chin. 

“She wants me to fly up home for the weekend for some party she’s throwing. Remember that invitation they sent me?” 

“Oh yeah!” Dipper remembered the envelope with the calligraphy from the night when he had helped Pacifica with math at his place. The same night he had almost kissed her. 

He pushed that thought aside. 

“Well, that might be fun?” Dipper suggested. 

Pacifica shot him a dubious look. “Yeah, meeting a bunch of spoiled rich guys that they want me to hook up with. Sounds like a swell time.” 

Dipper nearly choked. “What?” 

Pacifica huffed as she raked a hand through her hair. “My parents have been on my case lately about settling down with someone, even though I told them I’m not looking to get married any time soon. They’re trying to keep it hush hush, but they’ve been looking to expand their business beyond real estate. They think they can strike a good merger deal with another company if they can marry into the family. And oh look, here I am: an only child.” 

It felt like someone had injected ice in his veins, and his stomach churned. Horrified, Dipper said, “They can’t make you do that! Isn’t that illegal?” 

Pacifica snorted. “Of course they can’t _make_ me marry someone, but they can make my life hell if I don’t do what they want me to do. They’re still my parents, and I’m technically a dependent, especially since I’m a college student. I don’t have any real money of my own right now and back home is my permanent residence.” 

She ducked her head as she confessed, “I’ve been avoiding them for a while because they’re pressuring me to make a choice, but now I’m going to be stuck with them for the weekend and a roomful of party guests as witness.” 

Dipper was hesitant to speak up, but he was curious. He asked, “Why did you say yes? You could have said no. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” 

Her smile was bitter. “I’ve played the rebellious teen before, and I got burned. Playing along is better than fighting.” 

Although Dipper didn’t agree, he didn’t want to call her out when she was so upset. Instead, he asked, “Where’s home for you?” 

“Oregon,” she replied. “In a tiny town you’ve probably never heard of: Gravity Falls.” 

His head turned so fast that he nearly stumbled over a sidewalk crack.

“No kidding? I have an uncle who used to live there, I’ve visited him!” 

Pacifica’s eyes widened and she looked at Dipper like he had sprouted a second head. “Really? Who’s your uncle?” 

“Stan Pines,” he replied. “He’s an old codger, but he was good to me and Mabel when we visited. He even took care of us one summer when we were…I don’t know, twelve or so? Our parents thought we needed to ‘disconnect from civilization’ or something.” 

Her blank look pulled a nervous chuckle from him.    

“Yeah, my parents are kind of reformed hippies,” he said with a shrug. “California lifestyle and all that stuff. So we spent the summer in Oregon one year. It was pretty wild.” 

His eyes went out of focus for a second as pieces of that summer came back to him. The strange creatures, the even stranger journal he found that went mysteriously missing halfway through the summer, and the stories that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Did Pacifica know about the weird stuff? Or had he imagined some of it? 

Pacifica furrowed her brow. “Pines…did he used to own that weird cabin in the woods, what was it called…the Murder Hut?” 

Dipper grinned. “The Mystery Shack, but good guess! Grunkle Stan sold it to a family friend about five years ago. He was always weird, but he was really…different after that summer we spent with him. A couple years after we visited he sold the place, moved to Florida, and spent his savings on a boat that he dubbed the _Stan o’ War._ He practically lives on the thing now!” 

He shook his head, equal parts confusion and admiration. “Is the Shack still there? Does Soos still run it? I haven’t been back since I was like, fifteen.” 

Pacifica kicked a pebble ahead of her. “I wasn’t around much because of boarding school, but I think it ran for a couple years after he sold it. When the owner’s grandmother died, the guy sold the land and he and his wife moved away. The person who bought it wanted to build some kind of theme park around it, but the plans fell through – some legal thing with the town – and when they tried to sell it, no one wanted it. The place is abandoned now and it’s creepy as hell. Everyone’s convinced it’s haunted, so no one goes near it.” 

Dipper perked up. “Really? Did anyone see something there? Like a ghost or something?” 

When Pacifica looked at him, it was with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Leave it to you to get excited about a creepy abandoned shack in the woods.” 

She turned her gaze forward, and her teeth sunk into her lower lip. He fixated on the movement, his mind conjuring up another scenario in which she might bite her lip, and he was a bit startled when she spoke again. 

“You know, me and a couple friends snuck into the place one night. I was having a sleepover while my parents were out of town, so we took my car over at like, 2am and checked the place out.” 

Her expression clouded over and she was racked by a shiver that didn’t have anything to do with the breeze. “It was super creepy. There were tons of weird tools and machines – taxidermy, too – and standing in there, it felt like…” she frowned into the distance as she mulled over the words, “it felt like there was someone – or something – there. I still get goosebumps thinking about it.” 

Dipper was stunned. “You went into a haunted shack? That doesn’t sound like you.” 

She shrugged one shoulder and replied, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” 

“So what did you guys do while you were there?” he asked. 

A smile spread over her face and she said, “We poked around until a squirrel knocked over an old plaster bust and the other girls got spooked. I would have stuck around longer, but the girls were too scared.” 

Dipper snuck at look at her out of the corner of his eye and echoed, “Only the girls were too scared?” 

“Yes,” Pacifica said much too quickly to be believable. 

Sensing her tension, he decided to change the subject. 

“It’s so weird that we were so close and we didn’t even know it,” he said. “Why didn’t I see you?” 

Pacifica shrugged again. “I don’t know. I was at summer programs pretty much every year. That summer I was probably at golf camp. Or maybe we met and we just don’t remember?” 

He gave his head a shake. “I would remember you.” 

He watched her expression flicker through a series of emotions he could barely follow – surprise confusion, embarrassment – before it settled on something that looked faintly pleased. 

“We must have not seen each other, then,” Pacifica concluded. He thought he spotted a flush on her face, but before he could be sure she tilted her head so her hair fell to shield her cheek. “So where are you headed?” 

“I have a lecture in twenty minutes on the other side of campus. What about you?” 

With a weak smile, Pacifica replied, “I’m all done for the day, but it looks like I’m going to have to pack for the weekend. I guess I’ll see you around?” 

Dipper was a little disappointed to be parting ways so soon, but he forced a smile. “Yeah, see you soon. Have a good flight! Let me know how it goes!” 

“Thanks _._ See you!” 

Pacifica waved over her shoulder as she marched off toward the bus stop, her hair flouncing behind her. Dipper watched her go with a twinge of regret in his chest. He wished he had said something to make her feel more comfortable about going away this weekend. Better yet, he wished he had the nerve to tell her about how he kept replaying last week’s almost-kiss over and over again in his head, and how much he wanted to make that almost-kiss a _real_ kiss. Because if she knew how he felt about her, maybe she would tell him she felt the same, and he wouldn’t have to worry that Pacifica would return from her weekend home with an engagement ring the size of a cherry tomato on her left hand.

At least he’d know for sure whether or not he had a chance with her. 

With a final look at her receding back, Dipper turned and bustled off to class.


	9. Party Schemers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacifica's trip home for the weekend doesn't go as expected. Amid the pressure of her parents, stress from faces both old and new, and her confusing relationship with Dipper, Pacifica struggles to keep it all together.

After four hours spent in cramped quarters with irritable business people to the soundtrack of not one, but two crying babies from coach, Pacifica was happy to slip into the quiet solitude of the hired car. After a full morning of class and an afternoon predominantly spent in the bustle of an airport and the confinement of an airplane, Pacifica yearned for the spacious, silent backseat of her parents’ private car. Sue her.

She was lulled into a sense of peace by the gentle rocking of the car, and she melted into the leather upholstry. Pacifica was tempted to doze until she arrived, but at the base of the hill she caught sight of the wrought iron of the manor’s gate rising over the peak. Her stomach curled inward and she instantly felt too sick to close her eyes. The peace had been nice while it lasted.

The car climbed the steep incline slowly, like the ascent of a roller coaster car. The only problem was her anticipation was tainted with dread, not excitement. The car finally passed through the open gates and crunched up the gravel drive. Pacifica’s heart sank as she caught sight of two figures waiting at the top of the drive. One was bulky, almost bear-like, and waiting perfectly still; the other was paced back and forth in a cloud of fogged breath with a phone pressed to his ear. When the car came to a stop, Pacifica braced herself with a breath and threw open the door to the backseat before the driver could race around to open it for her.

As she emerged into the Oregon cold, her father didn’t end his phone call, but he did pause his pacing for a moment. Her mother, clad head to toe in brown furs, smiled at her coolly.

“Hello, darling.”

Pacifica surrendered herself to the customary air kiss on both cheeks from her mother and a distracted peck on the top of her head form her father before he returned to berating whoever was on the other end of the line.

“I know I told you that we need the quarterly report in two weeks, but the investors have moved up their meeting to Tuesday and they need a copy for the presentation!”

Her father covered the receiver with a palm and turned to Pacifica to say, “I trust you traveled safely?”

Preston didn’t wait for a response; he placed the phone at his ear with a grim expression and said through his teeth, “Drafts? No no, we need the final copy! When can it be done?...Thursday? That’s too late. I don’t care if you have to work on it from now until 9 o’clock on Tuesday morning, it needs to be ready for that meeting.”

He must not have liked the answer on the other end of the line, because he pivoted and strode away, muttering threats that made Pacifica wince.

“It was fine,” Pacifica said to her father’s back. As the driver opened the trunk to retrieve her duffle bag, Pacifica moved to collect it, but was stopped by a remark from her mother.

“You look exhausted, dear,” she said in a tone that showed she was more concerned with Pacifica’s appearance than her fatigue. “Your hair is a mess, too. Should I book a facial and a highlight treatment for tomorrow?”

Pacifica was a little embarrassed to admit that she wouldn’t be opposed to a spa day. “A facial would be great. A pedicure, too. But I think my hair’s fine for now.”

She was the first to admit she took advantage of her parents’ money upon occasion, and this was one of those times. While Pacifica was a bit ashamed of her dependence, she made sure to tip obscenely well when she went to the salon or the spa with her mother to make up for it.

Her mother looked unconvinced but she turned with a wave of her hand. “I’ll ask Gladys to book us an appointment. I’ll schedule a highlight touch-up, too.”

As her mother sauntered off, her father finally ended the call with a harrumph. He gave her a lukewarm smile.

“Come inside, darling,” he commanded.

He didn’t wait for Pacifica to follow; he set off after her mother, grumbling to himself as he fiddled with his smart phone.

That was the extent of Pacifica’s reception. With a sigh, she took her duffle bag from the driver and slung it over her shoulder.

“Welcome home, Pacifica.”

* * *

Pacifica slept like a proverbial stone that night in her childhood bed once she bulldozed the mountain of dolls off of it. She didn’t wake until there was a knock at her door and a call to breakfast the next morning. She dressed quickly, cleaned up, and headed downstairs to the dining hall.

Breakfast she ate in silence, as her parents chatted about the newspaper, party plans, and her failure as a daughter in alternation. As she brought her coffee mug to her lips, her father finally addressed her directly.

“Pacifica, darling.” He flicked the top of his newspaper page downward to uncover his face without taking his eyes off what he was reading. “The Somersets are coming this evening. Do you remember their son Connor?”

Pacifica made a face like she had swallowed earwax. Oh, she remembered: Connor was a vile young man she had only met in passing but had no desire to know better. Most recently, he had been in the news for being accused of academic plagiarism in his research. After some critical evidence from the prosecution had been omitted under dubious circumstances, the case had been settled quickly and quietly outside of court. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that the judge’s decision had been influenced by the financial power of the Somerset family, a long-time supporter of the college with a habit of settling charges behind closed doors.

Pacifica grimaced and asked, “What about him?”

Her father either didn’t catch the acid in her tone, or chose to ignore it. “Bright young man, that one. Lots of potential. He’s been in the news for his thesis, you know.”

Pacifica covered her snort of derision with a cough when her mother’s eyes flicked to her in warning. Still, her father didn’t notice her disdain. With another turn of his page, he continued, “He’s offered to be your escort tonight, and we’ve accepted on your behalf.”

Pacifica’s eyes bugged out of her head. Then, she slammed her coffee cup down on its saucer, slopping some over the sides.

“You didn’t even ask me!” she cried.

At this, her father raised his eyes from his paper and fixed her with a look of disapproval. “Pacifica, please don’t make a scene. I’m trying to eat.”

Pacifica spluttered as she tried to come up with the right expletive to emphasize how little she cared about his damn breakfast, but her mother broke in.

“It was all in the invitation we sent,” she explained, infuriatingly pleased with her sneakiness. “Didn’t you read it?”

Pacifica was caught. Her fear of the invitation was so great that she hadn’t bothered to open the envelope. It was still sitting on the corner of her desk at her apartment, mocking her cowardice. She wished she had it with her now, so she could toss it into the crackling fireplace.

“I must have missed that part,” she lied.

Her father’s attention returned to his scone, but his words were directed at her. “We expect you to entertain him tonight. He was so eager to be your escort.”

“I bet,” Pacifica muttered.

“Come now, darling,” her mother crooned. “You couldn’t do better. After all, you’re not getting any younger.”

Pacifica pushed back her seat with a scrape. The quick move accidentally knocked her coffee cup over and spilled its contents on the cream colored tablecloth. Her parents both barked her name in outrage, but Pacifica stomped out of the dining room, up the stairs, and into the sanctuary of her bedroom. She gravitated to her phone, and before she could process what she was doing through the cloud of frustration, she had sent Dipper a text.

_If I get arrested for murdering my parents, you can have everything in my apartment._

It wasn’t until a few seconds after she hit send that it occurred to Pacifica that threatening to kill her parents over text probably wasn’t the best conversation starter. She chewed her nail as she waited for a reply with a hammering heart. When his response popped up, her heart slowed a few clicks.

_Even your TV?_

She laughed in spite of herself.

 _Aren’t you supposed to talk me out of it?_ She fired back.

_I doubt it’d make a difference ;)_  
_Don’t worry, it’s only one more night. You can get through it! We’ll do something fun when you get back._

The promise seemed too good to be true and a smile crept over her face. Despite her excitement, her response was flippant.

_Fun with you? You’ll have to convince me, Pines._

He responded back just as quickly.

_Can’t wait. Have a good day, Pacifica._

She set aside her phone and breathed through the emotions swirling in her chest. The anger hadn’t subsided; she had just buried it under her confusing feelings for Dipper. She’d never admit it aloud, but he was cool. She liked spending time with him, and the promise of spending time together outside the apartment – no homework, no exes, no responsibilities – comforted her like a drink of smooth hot chocolate.

Talking to Dipper about her parents got the emotions off her chest, but it frightened her, too. She hadn’t gone deep into detail about her relationship with her parents, but he knew more than any of her other friends at college. What if he asked too many questions? What if he pushed too hard and found out all the ugly things about her?

There was a tentative knock at her bedroom door. Since it was definitely not her parents – they never knocked – she answered it. Outside, she found Gladys, looking as fidgety as ever while her delicate hands wound around each other like twin serpents.

“Pardon me, Miss Northwest,” she said, her eyes wide with nerves. “Your mother is waiting for you in the car. Your appointment is at 11:00.”

For a beat, Pacifica considered asking Gladys to tell her mother where she could kindly shove her appointment, but then she relented. It wasn’t fair for Gladys to pass on the message, especially when her mother was likely to shoot the messenger.

“Thanks, Gladys. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Pacifica collected her things – phone, charger, headphones – and dumped them into her purse. Bundled in her warmest clothes with an arsenal of distraction slung over her shoulder, Pacifica marched off to war. 

* * *

It was nearly impossible to get a word in edgewise with her mother, especially after her outburst that morning. Even after the car ride into town and a twenty minute facial, Priscilla continued to berate Pacifica. She endured it all in silence, which was the only way to infuriate her mother more than backtalk.

When Pacifica was done perusing polish colours with the pedicurist, polite as punch, Priscilla sniffed and said with an edge, “You’re lucky to be here at all, after your behaviour this morning.”

Pacifica bit down on the nasty response and instead said, “Thank you, mother. I really needed this.”

Priscilla was taken aback by the sudden lenience, but she was quick to conceal her surprise.

“What you really need is a touch up,” she remarked as she prodded at the crown of Pacifica’s head and frowned at her roots.

With all her might, Pacifica resisted the urge to slap her mother’s hand away. It was bad enough that her roots were showing (she was a blonde who needed a little help, okay?). Now her mother just had to point it out! She was almost as good at finding Pacifica’s flaws as Pacifica herself.

However, now that she had her mother alone and relaxed, Pacifica had the opportunity. Maybe she could reason with her mother about Connor being her escort to the party and dodge the bullet, at least for another weekend. To change her mother’s mind, she needed to tread lightly.

Pacifica waited until her mother was halfway into her second wine spritzer to broach the subject.

“So I’ve been thinking about your plans for the Somerset merger,” she said when her mother was taking a sip; that was the only time her mouth stopped flapping.

There was a faint hiccup, but otherwise, Priscilla remained composed. “Have you? Why is that?”

Pacifica swallowed hard. These were uncharted waters: Pacifica had never discussed the family business with her mother before. She didn’t know how to be assertive without being aggressive, and her mother had no idea how to be compassionate.

“Because,” she began, trying to keep her voice steady, “I think it’s a risky move. Union by marriage can be complicated and messy. You don’t know if the families are going to hit it off, or if the relationship will last, and what will happen if there’s a divorce–”

“Divorce?” Priscilla laughed and said, “Why are you worried about things that haven’t even happened yet?”

Pacifica sucked on her lower lip for a moment as she tried to compose herself. “Because I would be the one getting married. It’s my future! You’re putting a lot of pressure on me to date somebody I barely know. I don’t want to marry him.”

There was a long pause, and Pacifica could feel her heart in her throat as she waited for the response. She snuck a glance out of the corner of her eye, and her mother’s profile was stony. After a minute, Priscilla let out a breathy laugh.

“You’re exaggerating, dear,” she said with a condescending smile. “I’m not asking you to marry the boy right now! I’m just encouraging you to give him a chance. How do you know that you don’t want to be with him if you don’t even know him?”

 _Because I like someone else!_ Pacifica was tempted to confess her crush right then and there in the foolish hope that for once her mother would understand. But deep down, Pacifica knew that such a confession would only throw a wrench into her parents’ plan to marry her off to Connor and expand their business. If she admitted that she cared for Dipper, she might not be allowed to return to college. She couldn’t risk losing her career and her friends.

Instead, Pacifica approached the subject from an angle her mother would understand: gossip.

“I’ve heard enough to know that I don’t want to know him,” she replied with a sniff.

Her mother’s airy amusement sank. “You can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids. Reporters make their careers out of defaming people like us.”

“But it’s not just the tabloids!” Pacifica insisted. “I’ve heard from so many girls I know that he’s rude and misogynistic and – and he plagiarized the research that he’s being celebrated for! I don’t want him, and I don’t want any part of this!”

She opened her mouth in a silent cry when her mother seized her by the wrist and squeezed hard. Priscilla’s nails dug into the underside of her arm and she met her mother’s gaze warily.

“Pacifica.” The tone of voice was almost as forceful as the hand on her wrist. Her mother’s eyes blazed blue as she murmured in a dangerous voice, “You’re causing a scene.”

Her mother inclined her head toward the two women kneeling upon the floor. Pacifica felt a little ashamed at raising her voice in front of these women while they were trying to do their work, but she wasn't sorry that she had lost her temper at her mother.

She went silent, if only for their sake, and her mother mistook the quiet for obedience. “Tonight, you will be escorted by Connor Somerset. You will sit with him at dinner, and you are not to leave his side. You are to be on your best behaviour.”

Pacifica stared straight ahead and held herself perfectly still. The talons released her wrist and she shifted her gaze just enough to see the red marks blooming on her wrist. She bit down on her inner cheek and didn’t say another word; not at the salon, nor on the car ride back to the mansion.

Pacifica didn’t breathe a word until she saw the dress laid out on her bed for the party that evening: a one shoulder, seafoam green chiffon gown with beading that sparkled all over the bodice. She ran her fingers over the fine fabric and whispered, “Dammit.”

Her mother was a monster. But she had good taste.

* * *

Around five that evening, the first sounds of guests in the main hall wafted under her door. By twenty after, there was a murmur of voices downstairs.

At 5:21, the knob to her bedroom was jiggled. She heard a huff and a sharp rap on the door.

“Pacifica, darling,” – it was her mother – “Connor is waiting.”

She grimaced at her reflection, which had nothing to do with how she looked. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a sleek up-do, diamonds glittered on her ears and wrist, and her makeup was on point. The dress fit her so perfectly that she was suspicious a seamstress had taken her measurements last night as she slept. She looked like a million bucks.

However, the unsavoury task of entertaining Connor for the evening was taking all the fun out of playing princess.

With a sigh, she called, “Coming!”

Pacifica gave her reflection one parting look before she abandoned the safety of her bedroom for the trials that awaited her. When she threw the latch and opened her door, Priscilla was waiting. Her blue eyes trailed over her from head to foot in a look of appraisal and a small smile twitched onto her face. The expression shouldn’t have made Pacifica’s heart do a little swoop of relief. She was a grown adult; her mother’s approval shouldn’t have given her so much satisfaction, especially given the circumstances.

The click of their heels was the only sound as the two of them wound through the corridors toward the main staircase. As they neared the stairs, the sounds of conversation and laughter reached a crescendo until they rounded the final bend. Pacifica’s stomach dropped when she saw Connor in animated conversation with her father. As Pacifica approached, Preston turned to face her.

“There you are, darling,” he greeted with a smile. That was another punch to the gut; it hurt that her father’s first smile of the weekend was for Connor’s benefit and not because he was pleased to see her.

Connor turned to face her and Pacifica schooled her expression as best as she could, given she wanted nothing more than to scowl. He was a good looking man in the way that a Rene Magritte painting was beautiful: bordering on realism, but a bit too featureless to be human. His features were squishy, from his nose to his chin, and his auburn hair was so slick with gel it looked almost like a bicycle reflector. He was dressed in a plain black suit and tie that made him look like he was attending a funeral instead of a party.

Only his amber yellow eyes showed a sign of life as they looked her up and down. The way his eyes lingered a fraction of a second on her bust made her want to be sick. Preferably right in front of him, so he would be so disgusted that he would never volunteer to escort her again.

“Miss Northwest,” he greeted with a toothy smile. He held out his arm and Pacifica stared down at it like it was a venomous snake that she was expected to touch. She looked to her father for mercy and was met with concrete resolve.

With a lump in her throat, Pacifica placed her hand atop his and turned to face the room of people that awaited them below. Conversation died away as more and more upturned, expectant faces looked at them. Applause broke out. Humiliated, all Pacifica could do was descend the stairs in slow motion, wishing a comet would strike her home right now and put her out of her misery. It would probably cut the country’s carbon footprint in half, considering the number of business moguls in the room. So really, her sudden annihilation by meteor would be doing everyone a favour.

When Pacifica reached the bottom of the stairs, she was bombarded by greetings from people she hadn’t seen in over a year. While they weren’t her favourite people, at the very least she was saved the distinct displeasure of talking to Connor. She could feel him getting impatient at her elbow as her hand was shaken and her cheeks kissed by an increasingly long receiving line. Spiteful as ever, Pacifica indulged in conversation with everyone she met, asking about their children, spouse, or estate. It was frightening how easily she slipped into the empty pleasantries and inflated nothings of high society. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

There wasn’t a break in the line of people eager to talk to her until her father called everyone to the table for dinner. Just as her mother had promised, Pacifica’s place card was right next to Connor’s. He pulled out her chair in an unexpected kind gesture. However, as soon as Pacifica smoothed her dress underneath her rear and sat, he pushed her in so close that her stomach practically touched the table. There was no room for escape, which she suspected was his plan.

He sank into the chair beside her with a smile that she’d expect to see on the face of a coyote that had cornered a rabbit. His eyes drifted to her mouth as he said in a low voice, “Looks like I finally have you to myself.”

She blinked at him, then glanced over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps. “Oh look, soup.”

Pacifica shifted to let the server’s arm through and thanked him for the soup. Grateful for an excuse to avoid conversation, she quickly tucked into her appetizer. Connors mouth pressed into a thin line of annoyance, but he was persistent. He asked about her flight, and Pacifica stuck to single word answers as she tried to drown herself in her soup. She needn’t have worried about small talk, because if anyone could keep up a one-sided conversation, it was Connor Somerset. He barely touched his soup as he regaled her with a lengthy recount of his last trip to Europe, where he bounced from one country to another attending clubs and parties. By remaining quiet aside from the occasional hum, or “Really?”, Pacifica got through three courses without having to talk at all.

Dessert was where it all went south, which was a shame. She loved tiramisu.

“You know, pre-law at Harvard is a very competitive program,” he declared with a jab of his spoon, “especially in corporate law. You really have to be on top of your game, or someone will snatch an opportunity right from under you. I ran into a bit of trouble with my most recent paper – it’s been critically published, you know. It’s a report outlining the strategies and benefits of altering our trade agreements with other countries. We’ve been taken advantage of for too long, and it’s the responsibility of business owners to make the government see reason. Perhaps you’ve read it?”

Pacifica took her time swallowing her bite of tiramisu before she spoke. “I haven’t,” she said with a false smile.

“Really?” The shock on his face turned to condescension. “Well, I can see how it would be daunting. It’s very complicated, economics and corporate law. You probably wouldn’t understand it. But have you heard of the publication? It’s quite famous; it made the national news.”

Pacifica pursed her lips like she was trying to remember something vague. Finally, she said, “I haven’t heard anything about it except something about an academic tribunal hearing at Harvard. What was it for...academic dishonesty and plagiarism?”

Connor’s face paled and he cleared his throat. “That has all been settled. It was just a misunderstanding on the university’s part. A supervisor and fellow honours student made a false claim. Surely you’ve had your fair share of trouble with your peers, what with your wealth and position. Envy is insidious.”

Connor smiled at her and Pacifica felt her stomach twist. She was appalled he would imply they were at all alike, let alone imply that Pacifica had to cheat her way to the top of her class.

Unaware of how she was fuming, Connor continued, “I heard you’re studying at the University of California in Los Angeles. How...quaint.”

He leered and asked, “What are you studying there?”

“Biomedical science.”

Pacifica took a sip of her champagne to hide her smirk as she watched his face fall in surprise.

“That’s a difficult program,” he said finally with a shaky laugh. “How do you manage?”

“I like a challenge,” she countered. “I’m planning to apply to medical school this fall and this will set me up for the next step.”

He didn’t look like he knew how to handle a girl who wasn’t impressed with his perfunctory law degree and had career plans of her own. His expression settled into a sneer as he asked, “More school? I don’t see why you need it. It’s not like you have to work!”

Her eyes narrowed over her glass. “What do you mean?”

Connor laughed like she had made a joke. “Come now, Pacifica. Women in your position, that look like you, don’t have to work. You’ll be supported by the man lucky enough to have you.”

His fingertips grazed her arm and Pacifica dropped her dessert spoon in shock. She was nauseated when she felt the slick toe of his dress shoe glide up her leg, underneath her skirt. She launched to her feet with her champagne glass in hand and snatched her arm away. The conversation halted at the table and Pacifica realized with a jolt that all eyes were fixed on her. Connor fidgeted and coughed, embarrassed on her behalf, and Pacifica felt a rush of vindication. Let him feel just as uncomfortable as he had made her feel!

Her voice carried when she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go freshen up.”

She strode away without waiting for a response. Hopeful her mother wouldn’t follow, Pacifica found the nearest bathroom and tucked a leather-backed chair under the doorknob to prevent anyone from barging in. Pacifica set her glass down and braced her hands on either side of the sink basin, trying to calm her anger enough to last the rest of the party. Her parents would be relentless if they thought she was rude on purpose, but she couldn’t stand another minute listening to the vitriol spilling from Connor Somerset’s mouth. Not without decking him, anyway.

She raised her head and was annoyed to see her face was pink with anger. In a desperate attempt at calm, she focused on her breath, like she had been taught at the one yoga and relaxation class she had attended last semester.

_In….I am tranquility...Out….In...I am peace….Out...In….I am rage incarnate...Out._

That was her longest mindfulness session ever, and Pacifica thought she deserved a drink to celebrate. She downed the last of her champagne, brushed a few stray hairs out of her face, and removed the barricade from the bathroom door.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she was relieved to see that the diners had vacated the table since she left and were trailing into the large library as they chatted in small groups. She traded her empty champagne glass for a full one as she passed a serving tray and scanned the crowd for someone to talk to. If she could find the right person to strike up a conversation with, she might not have to deal with her escort for the rest of the evening.

Pacifica debated. Many of the guests she had spoken to only once and she wasn’t in the mood to reintroduce herself. Her eyes landed on the Patels, a middle aged couple with two daughters who were both studying abroad this year. They were a little conservative and snooty, but kind enough. Yes, she’d go ask about the girls; hopefully, like normal parents, they’d talk about their successful children for the next hour until she could fake an illness and politely leave the party.

As she strode toward the Patels, she was stopped by a familiar voice.

“Pacifica! Is that you?”

She stopped in her tracks and scanned the crowd for the speaker. Her heart stuttered to a stop in her chest when she saw a young woman with sleek black hair, dark, cutting eyes, and a persistently wrinkled nose cutting through the throng of people. She’d know that face anywhere. Her high school best friend and former partner in crime: Heather.

Now that she had Pacifica’s attention, Heather took her time strutting over, her wine coloured gown flaring out behind her as she weaved between bodies. With the plunging neckline that showed off her toned, dark brown chest and torso, the young woman looked like she was ready for a movie premiere.

Pacifica swore under her breath before she plastered a smile on her face.

“Heather. It hasn’t been long enough,” she said with acrid sweetness.

Heather’s mouth twitched as she slowed to a stop in front of her, but she let Pacifica’s jibe slide. “I thought that was you! But it was hard to tell; how many months has it been since you broke it off with your colorist?”

Heather squinted at her hair with a look that bordered on pity. Her blood boiling, Pacifica smiled and pinched out a laugh that sounded more like a growl.

“It’s been so long, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said with a bat of her lashes. “Where did you get the nose job, anyway? Pinocchio’s?”

There was a flash behind Heather’s dark eyes. “You’re hilarious as ever, Pacifica. I’m sure Connor loves it! I saw you with him earlier. Where did he get to?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him since dinner,” Pacifica replied noncommittally.

Heather’s eyes flicked to somewhere behind Pacifica’s head and her smile spread. “There he is, chatting with Mr. Sachs. Should I call him over?”

“No!” In her desperation, Pacifica had played right into Heather’s hand. At her former friend’s grin, she lowered her voice and added, “We’ve talked quite enough tonight, but thanks for being so...considerate.”

Heather’s chin lifted just a little higher, asserting her dominance in the situation. “What are friends for?”

 _Apparently ruining your evening_ , Pacifica thought bitterly.

“So, how is the company? I heard this past quarter wasn’t so good,” Pacifica said with a hiss. “Are your parents here tonight? I didn’t see them.”

Heather’s eyes fell to the side and Pacifica felt a pang of guilty. It was no secret that Heather’s family business had seen better days. As newspaper and print publishers, in everything from tabloids and journals to teen romance novels and biographies, they were suffering a serious hit with the move to digital publishing. Her parents had been on the outer sphere of the social circles for nearly a year as each quarter the stocks grew more disappointing.

Things were bad for Heather and her family, and Pacifica had reminded her of how bad it was. It was a dick move, even if it was Heather.

However, her old friend was always light on her feet. She raised her chin a fraction to look down her nose at Pacifica and declared, “They’re on business and send your family their regrets.”

Curious, Pacifica asked, “Then why are you here? I thought you were too old for these parties.”

“Yes, well...” Heather cast a glance over her shoulder and waggled her fingers at a young man in a trim navy suit who Pacifica didn’t recognize. He gave a wave, his smile perfectly plastic.

She turned back to Pacifica. “My boyfriend Heinrich just arrived from Luxembourg last week and I wanted to show him off a little. Your parents always throw such amazing parties, so I thought this would be the perfect place.”

Pacifica felt her throat tighten. Yet another girl with a family-approved boyfriend. If she wasn’t mistaken by the name and the city, he was one of the wealthy bachelors her parents had proposed to her when their scheme for a merger had begun mid-last summer. Despite their dislike for foreigners, they had shown her Heinrich because of his family’s booming hotel chain. Europe was about as “exotic” as her parents had been willing to go, although they had thrown in a few wealthy Chinese and Indian candidates for good measure. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the binder of profiles they had sent her while she was at school, and thus she had mostly avoided her parents for months with every excuse in the book: midterms, tutoring, illness, kidnapping, and once death. They hadn’t found that one as amusing as she had, but Pacifica was running out of ideas.

All that work, and now she was in the clutches of Connor Somerset. Maybe she should have actually looked at that binder and just picked the best of the worst. At least then she could have chosen her own poison.

Pacifica gave Heather a tight smile. “So glad you could bring him.”

“I’ll introduce you!” Heather turned and waved him down before Pacifica could flee, and she was rooted to the spot by proprietary alone. She’d draw more attention to herself if she made for the door like a madwoman.

Pacifica gathered her patience and smiled as warmly as she could muster once Heinrich reached them.

“Darling,” Heather crooned as she looped her arms around his neck and leaned into his side. “This is my good friend, Pacifica Northwest.”

The knowledgeable flicker in his eyes made her cringe inside. She hated that look that could only be described as corporate greed blended with a hint of ill-placed lust. Heinrich took her hand and pulled it toward himself.

“It is a pleasure, _mon cherie_ ,” he said as he bent to kiss the hand she hadn’t offered in the first place.

Pacifica bit her tongue to stifle a sound of disgust and discreetly wiped the back of her hand on her skirt when he released her. Even when they weren’t touching, she could feel him slowly undressing her with his eyes.

She shuddered. Now she remembered this boy: a notorious gambler and millionaire playboy with more sex scandals than you could keep on the hush. For the second time that night, Pacifica almost felt sorry for Heather.

She glared at him. “I’m sure it is.”

Heather caught onto Pacifica’s contempt and took a step between Heinrich and Pacifica as if to protect him. Then, she turned on the charm.

“Dear, you should go talk to the boys over there,” she inclined her head toward a few young men hanging around the doorway to the library and nursing glasses of scotch. “Give us some time for girl talk.”

Pacifica glanced at the men and out of habit rattled them off in her head: distillery, real estate, real estate, internet mogul. She was instantly horrified; how did she even know that?

Heinrich nodded at Heather and pressed a kiss to her cheek. His gaze returned to Pacifica, and with a flash of teeth he said, “ _À bientôt._ ”

The subtle wink confirmed it: she never wanted to be in the same room as Heinrich again.

When he was gone, Heather relaxed a touch and smiled at Pacifica. The genuine expression frightened Pacifica more than any fake smile. A true smile, with no airs or underlying emotion, meant that Heather considered her a friend. And she knew what happened to Heather’s friends: disgrace, manipulation, and betrayal. That was why she had drifted away from Heather during her freshman year of college, when she had learned that gossip, humiliation, and rumours weren’t normal in friendship.

Pacifica steeled herself.

“Can we talk in private?” Her mouth was twisted to once side and her eyes seemed to shift in and out of focus. It occurred to Pacifica then that Heather might have indulged in one too many glasses of wine. And from weekends in high school spent smuggling coolers onto the rooftop and talking into the early hours of the morning with Heather and her other friends, Pacifica remembered that a tipsy Heather was a giggly, over affectionate Heather. She was relatively harmless. She might not even remember their conversation tomorrow.

Sensing Pacifica’s hesitation, Heather gushed, “It’s been ages since we spoke, and I want to hear all about what you’re up to in Cali!”

Pacifica let out a little sigh and gestured to the exit. “The parlour, just off this corridor.”

As she ushered Heather away from the library, she peeked over her shoulder. Through the still open doorway, she caught a glimpse of her parents silhouetted by the roaring fireplace as her father poured glasses of dark liquid. Brandy, Pacifica realized with relief. Her parents were fiends for it, so she wouldn’t be missed if she slipped off for a little “girl talk” with Heather. With any luck, they wouldn’t realize she was gone until she left the party entirely.

Heather was oddly mute as they crept down the hall together, her shoes scuffing on the floor. The silence should have been Pacifica’s first warning that this conversation would be more than she bargained for, because Heather literally never stopped talking.

When they reached the parlour, decorated in lavish velvet and silk, Heather stretched out on a plum settee. Still uncertain, Pacifica left door ajar and perched on the arm of the settee at Heather’s feet.

Through heavy lidded eyes, Heather peered up at Pacifica and took another sip of her wine.

“So,” Heather said as she smoothed her skirt with her free hand, “how’s school?”

Startled by the question – since when had Heather cared about education? – Pacifica scrambled for a response. “It’s alright,” she replied warily, “I’m almost finished midterms, so things have been hectic.”

Heather scrunched up her face in confusion and Pacifica was reminded that Heather had never been to college. Odds were she had little understanding of the true suffering of midterm season. Even so, she said after a beat, “Oh, cool. What are you taking again?”

“Biomedical science.” The words sounded strange amid antique furniture while she wore a seafoam gown that glittered like the ocean. They didn’t mesh with the velvet upholstery, winking crystal overhead, and luxurious bear skin rug underfoot. Pacifica realized with a twist in her gut that she was starting to grow out of the world she had grown up in.

Heather blinked. Ordinarily she would fake her way through a conversation even if she didn’t understand what was being said, or change the subject to something she was more comfortable discussing. However, the wine had loosened her lips, and she asked, “What’s that?”

“Basically it’s a focus on the connection between biology, biochemistry, and medicine. You study clinical trials, research for new medicines and vaccines, and other kinds of medical technology. It’s good prep for medical school.”

Heather raised her eyebrows. “Medical school? Since when do you want to go to medical school?”

Pacifica wavered. “What do you mean? I’ve been talking about it since high school. Don’t you remember?”

Heather squinted, like she was trying to read some fine print that she hadn’t noticed before. After a few seconds, she shrugged and admitted, “All I remember is shopping, pool parties, and sleepovers. But I guess you were always a keener in school. You even liked dissection in biology.”

Heather curled her lip at the thought and Pacifica flushed. During high school, Pacifica had been one of the only girls in her friend group that would touch the frog in dissection class. Even then she had been awed by the animal’s perfect, tiny systems; a living machine.

Heather looked a little green, but she pressed on. “So what kind of doctor do you want to be?”

The word surgeon hung on Pacifica’s tongue, but it felt like too much. She hadn’t even told her parents that she was keen on becoming a surgeon, a job that included long hours, a variety of risks, and a lot of work. However, she was drawn deeper and deeper into the idea as she read the plethora of research about medical development in the surgical field.

“I...I don’t know,” she fibbed. “I’m still deciding.”

Heather took a sip of her wine with a hum and Pacifica seized the opportunity to redirect the interrogation. “What did you want to talk about? I know you don’t really care about my school, so what’s up?”

Caught off guard, Heather dribbled a little wine down her chin, and she patted it dry with the back of her hand. Trying to maintain a lofty air despite her spill, Heather asked, “Why wouldn’t I care?”

Pacifica rolled her eyes. It was obvious; and yet, Heather did seem interested. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was envy. Maybe she wanted more than to marry a wealthy man who with an eye for other women.

“What are you up to?” The transition was nonexistent, but Pacifica wanted to get off the subject of school and her future as soon as possible.

This time, Heather took it in stride. “I’ve been travelling – I went to Europe and Asia in the fall –, making friends…” She cocked her head as she tried to remember through the buzz from her wine. “I’ve been going to lots of parties. Ooh! And lots of art shows lately, too.”

That was a surprise. “Really? What shows have you seen?” Pacifica asked

“A few galas in New York and LA, by invitation only,” Heather replied with a touch of haughtiness. “Some student and amateur shows, too. Have you ever been? They’re great: good food, free wine, and tons of men. I asked Heinrich to come with me, but he…” Her voice dropped and she mumbled, “He’s too busy.”

Pacifica had a sneaking suspicion that Heinrich didn’t have the patience or taste to appreciate an art gallery.

“No, I haven’t been,” Pacifica admitted. “I’ve been pretty busy, too. With school, and applications…I haven’t had much time for friends lately.”

A slow, mischievous smile crept over Heather’s face. “That doesn’t sound like you. Where’s the party girl who used to sneak out of the dorms with me and go to the movies with boys from Parkwood?”

Pacifica smiled sheepishly. During her teens, she had been a bit of a wild child at boarding school. She had kissed more boys her senior year than she had throughout her entire college degree and gotten into more trouble than she had been punished for. Only once or twice had Pacifica been caught out of bed after curfew and the most she had received was a reprimand. A few hours in detention was all she had to show for her almost nightly jaunts into town and the woods with a host of girls and strange boys.

“I don’t have much time for parties anymore,” she confessed. Math, her sordid mistress, made sure that Pacifica rarely spent a night out of the house.

Heather cocked a brow. “What about boys?”

Pacifica’s stomach knotted on itself and she pretended to be interested in the gilt mirror on the wall. “None,” she lied as she took another sip of her champagne.

Heather let loose a giggle. “I don’t believe that for a second,” she said before she knocked back the rest of her drink. With an accusing finger pointed at Pacifica, she teased, “Just because you haven’t settled on a guy from a mummy and daddy approved list of the Rich and Famous, that doesn’t mean you’re alone. You’re never alone.”

Pacifica was positively red now. All pretense of lying was forfeited.

Heather leaned in conspiratorially. “What’s his name?”

Pacifica couldn’t tell her. Even saying Dipper’s name aloud would prove to Pacifica how ridiculous her crush was. Dipper was a good friend and she was about to blow it because of a stupid infatuation.

“I promise, there’s nobody,” Pacifica insisted, “no dates, no secret boyfriends...none.”

“Pacifica!” Heather clapped a hand to her chest. “I didn’t know you’d become such a prude! Wait until I tell the girls.”

There it was: the backstabbing comment. Pacifica hadn’t kept in touch with the girls from boarding school as much as she would have liked, but she knew that Heather spent plenty of time organizing brunches, patio afternoons, and wine nights that Pacifica couldn’t make most of the time due to class and homework. She hated the idea that Heather would report back on her lacklustre love life and confusion about school to the girls. It was embarrassing.

So, she struck back.

“At least I’m not a fake-ass gold-digger,” she snapped.

Heather’s expression went stony. “Excuse me?”

After the stress of the weekend – her arguments with her parents, the humiliation of spending an evening with Connor, and her ridiculous crush on one of her closest friends – Pacifica wanted nothing more than to pick a fight.

With a scoff, she said, “Everyone knows that your family’s company has been going under for years and they’re just too proud to let it go. Your family wants to marry you off to the richest boy they can find as fast as they can so they can salvage their dignity and get rid of you, to boot. You’re not in love with Heinrich, and he doesn’t even want you. He just wants your prestige to rub off on him. Even if you’re bankrupt, old money is still good money, isn’t it?”

Silence reigned. Heather’s mouth went slack with shock, and in the lines of her face embarrassment mingled with hurt. After a brief scramble for a response, she shot Pacifica a murderous look.

“At least I’m not going to end up a lonely, frigid old _bitch_ like you,” she retorted.

It was a smack to the face. While Pacifica reeled, Heather rose to her feet and flounced out of the room.

Pacifica remained on the edge of the settee for a long time, until the contents of her champagne flute went warm in her hand. Her stomach churned as she replayed the final moments of the conversation in her head once, twice. With each repeat, shame welled up inside her, until she could almost taste bile in her throat. She had just completely burned her bridge with Heather, and would no doubt be the talk of the next brunch Heather hosted, which Pacifica would definitely not be invited to.

When she could finally feel her legs again, Pacifica left the parlour. She wandered into the library and melted back into the crowd, her eyes peeled for Heather’s burgundy gown flickering amid the people. Her attention was so focused on Heather that she didn’t even notice Connor until he was practically on top of her.

“Pacifica!”

He caught her by the arm when she tried to side step him and held fast.

“What do you want?” she demanded with a snarl.

His smile quivered, but he tried to sound aloof when he replied, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, darling. Where did you run off to? You weren’t hiding from me?”

“As a matter of fact,” she said as she tugged her arm out of his grip, “I was.”

Now, the smile morphed into a reproachful look. “Come, darling, why are you upset? Was it something I said?”

 _It was everything you said!_ she wanted to shout, but there were too many eyes. Already some of the conversations around them had died down, and they were being watched. She straightened up and put on a mask of calm.

“I’m not interested in you and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression,” she replied with the final thread of patience and courtesy she possessed. “No matter how much my parents like you, I can’t pretend that I’m remotely interested in you because I’m not.”

Connor’s mouth gaped like a goldfish at her firmness. Taking that as her cue, Pacifica brushed past him, only to be grabbed by the arm again.

“Don’t touch me!” she commanded as she whirled to face him. Her chest tightened when she saw the fury in the tight set of his jaw and his yellow eyes.

“I came a long way to see you this weekend,” he said in a low voice, “and I won’t be ignored! You’re mine for the night and you should be damn grateful that I offered to be your escort at all, especially after I heard you were going to a state school. You’re a social pariah, Pacifica, and everyone knows it. You’ve buried yourself in meaningless work and if you aren’t careful you’re going to end up old and alone with no one to support you!”

His forehead shone with sweat and he swiped a hand across his brow. Connor straightened up and said in a more relaxed voice, “Now, choose wisely. Are you going to stay with me for the rest of the party, or are you going to ignore me like a child?”

Pacifica’s eyes darted around the room until she found her parents. They were still drinking and laughing by the fireplace. Her argument with Connor hadn’t reached them yet, but soon it would, if the nosy guests around them had anything to say about it. Then she’d be in an even worse predicament. She didn’t want to suffer the rest of the evening with Connor any more than she wanted to suffer her parents’ wrath if she refused him

From the darkness, a third option appeared, one that gave her hope. It was dicey, but if she could execute it quickly and quietly it would save her.

With only a cold glare at Connor, she said, “Neither. I’m going home.”

At his puzzlement, she added, “To California. My flight leaves in a couple hours. I’d say it was nice, but it wasn’t.”

Pacifica turned on her heel and marched out of the library without another word. Closing the door behind her for good measure, she made a beeline for the staircase. Her steps echoed in the nearly empty main hall. All the diners had moved into the massive library for billiards and gossip, and only the servers were left to clean up the vestiges of dinner. With any luck, no one would notice she had left until she was long gone.

She picked up her skirts and jogged up the steps, running all the way to her room. She stuffed the few items she had removed from her duffle bag back in and did a sweep of the room for anything she might have missed. Satisfied, Pacifica turned, only to meet her own reflection. She was still dressed in a gown, and with the duffle bag thrown over her shoulder she looked like a princess running away from home. After a moment of deliberation, she decided to leave it on. She didn’t know how much more time she had until Connor sounded the alarm.

Pacifica did, however, trade her heels for a pair of old riding boots. She’d rather walk on hot nails for the rest of the night than walk through an airport in her pumps. Finally, Pacifica shut the door on her childhood bedroom and headed back to the main hall.

Thankfully, there were still only the few servers milling around when she reached the top of the stairs. Her parents must not have received word from Connor yet; that, or he was too prideful to bring it up while the party was still going. Just as well for her getaway. She took the stairs at a clip and rushed for the front door, her gaze fixed on the closed door of the library as if her eyes alone could keep the door closed.

When she reached the doorman, she found him with his head bent over his smart phone as it pinged and tinkled with soft sounds. Upon seeing her, he fumbled to shove the phone into his suit pocket as he stammered, “Miss Northwest! Are you leaving so soon?”

She smiled tightly and said, “Something came up and I have to fly back early.”

“Are Mr. and Mrs. Northwest aware? Surely they want to say goodbye–”

“I’m leaving, and that’s final.” Pacifica’s eyes flicked to the rectangular outline in his breast pocket and she added, “You won’t tell my parents I left early, or that I spoke to you, and I won’t tell them I caught you playing _Bedazzled_ on the clock. Got it?”

Chagrinned, he could only nod. “I’ll call the car.”

As she waited for her driver on the front step, Pacifica tilted her chin upward to catch the light snowfall that had just started. Her mouth fell open, and she let out a breath that danced in a curl of smoke before it disappeared.

The driver was quick. Within a minute, the car pulled up, and Pacifica clambered into the backseat with her duffle bag before the driver could even unfasten his seatbelt. He coughed and shot her a curious look in the rear-view mirror.

“Where to, Miss Northwest?”

“The airport,” she said as she sank into her seat. “I’ve had a change in travel plans.”

His brow furrowed in concern, but he shifted out of park and pulled the car around the rotunda, bumping down the pebbled drive. As she passed through the gates, the tension that had clutched her shoulders since she arrived loosened, and she closed her eyes to catch a cat nap.

* * *

Once she reached the check-in counter, it was surprisingly easy to book a last minute, first class ticket to LA on the next flight leaving. It seemed that no one wanted to argue with a woman in a ball gown with a gold credit card, which was fine by her. Pacifica was rewarded with a blissful, screaming-baby-free flight all the way to California.

Luck seemed to be in her favour, because she grabbed the first cab she found outside. The traffic was thick – it was a Saturday night in LA, after all – but her driver was just aggressive enough to nudge into an opening on the freeway and they were on their way. As they neared the city, Pacifica cradled her phone in her hands and debated who to text at this hour. After the disaster of the party, she needed a drink (or ten) and she didn’t want to drink alone. The girls would already be deep into party mode, finally finished with most of their mid-terms, and it would be nearly impossible to reach them in the club. Pacifica’s stomach tightened as she realized that she was alone. Just like Heather and Connor had warned her.

At her apartment, she paid the cab driver and thanked her. Then, she began her ascent to the fourth floor. There was an elevator in the building, of course, but she wouldn’t be caught dead in that death trap. The old elevator reeked of putrid milk and had questionable brown stains on the argyle carpet that Pacifica was convinced were either blood or sex related. The ancient machine moved at a crawl, and it was much faster to take the stairs than to trust the elevator to bring her to her floor.

When Pacifica reached the fourth floor landing, she was struck by a suffocating stillness. Barely 11:30, and the floor was dead. Everyone was either out for the evening or snoring in their beds. Everyone, except maybe…

She marched to Dipper’s door and raised a fist. There was a second of deliberation. She was lonely, angry, frustrated, and still a little tipsy. Was it really the best idea to knock in her neighbour/tutor/potential crush’s door at this time of night?

Before Pacifica could think of any number of reasons why she shouldn’t invite Dipper to drink with her, she knocked sharply on his door and took a step back. Her weight rested on one hip as she tapped her free foot and waited for the tell-tale thump of approaching footsteps. It only occurred to her then that, like many other college students, Dipper might have actually gone out tonight.

Her heart fluttered when she heard a scuff on the opposite side of the door. After a rattle of the lock, the door swung open to reveal Dipper’s curious face. His mouth opened to speak, but he let out the breath with a wheeze as his eyes went wide and flicked down to see what she was wearing. For the first time that night, Pacifica didn’t mind being checked out.

“Hey,” he said as he opened the door the rest of the way, “I thought you were flying in tomorrow morning. What are you doing here? And why are you all dressed up?”

Pacifica didn’t want to answer any of those questions, so she did what she did best: changed the subject.

“Let’s go out,” she said with a cock of her head.

He blinked at her. “What…now?”


	10. Swing Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rotten time at home, Pacifica is desperate for a nice night with a good friend (or two). As always, Dipper is happy to oblige, despite his growing confusion about his feelings for her.

There he stood, dressed in two-day-old clothes and dazed from his nap, while Pacifica glittered from head to toe in diamonds and Swarovski crystal like a princess. And she had just _asked him to go out._

 

He must have been dreaming.

 

“Wh…what, now?” Dipper folded his arms over his chest to conceal the _Ghost Hunters_ logo on his ratty t-shirt and asked, “Like, _now_ now?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Duh. You promised me a good time and here I am. Keep up, Pines.”

 

Dipper chewed on the inside of his lip as he deliberated. He was exhausted from his shift and had planned on a night of watching bad horror movies and binging on popcorn. He wasn’t mentally prepared for an evening with Pacifica, especially when she looked this good.

 

But this invitation was everything he had wanted for the past week, and he’d be a fool to pass it up for popcorn and fake blood.

 

“O...kay. Okay, yeah, just let me...” Dipper started to march back to his room as he continued, “let me grab my wallet. I’ll be right back!”

 

Pacifica called after him, “Don’t rush! I’m going to change at my place, anyway.”

 

“Okay!” he called over his shoulder. Even better! He’d have a few minutes to pull himself together.

 

When Pacifica closed his front door behind her, Dipper sprinted into his bedroom, already swearing softly under his breath. He ripped off his wrinkled t-shirt and pawed through his closet until he found his only clean flannel button up. It was warm red and black, colours which Mabel insisted “brought out his eyes” (whatever that meant), and it had no stains yet, so he pulled it on. Then, he kicked off his sweatpants and slipped into his nicest jeans. Dipper quickly checked his reflection in the mirror on the back of the closet door and frowned. His clothes were fine, but his head looked like a tornado had ripped through it while he lounged on the couch. He raked his fingers through it in an attempt to flatten it, but after a solid minute of combing he finally gave up. His hair was one force of nature that couldn’t be tamed and he’d just have to accept it.

 

Fully dressed, Dipper scooped up his wallet and keys, shrugged into his jacket, and locked the front door behind him. As expected, there was no sign of Pacifica in the hallway. If she was anything like Mabel, she’d be at least another five minutes. Speaking of Mabel…

 

He propped himself against the wall outside Pacifica’s door and pulled out his cellphone to fire Mabel a message.

 

_Hey, Mabes! What’s up tonight?_

 

After a couple minutes of scrolling his dash and waiting for her response, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and blew out a breath. She must be busy; Mabel almost always responded right away.

 

After another minute or two, Pacifica emerged from her apartment in an outfit that was very different from her gown, but just as breathtaking. She wore black tights under a short black skirt that flared out above the knee, a sheer black camisole that dropped into a V-neck, high heeled boots, and a burgundy leather jacket that hovered just above her hips. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders from where it had been pinned, and he could smell the fresh citrus of her perfume.

 

At the sight of her, his mouth went dry and he stilled. Fortunately, Pacifica didn’t seem to notice his staring. She just locked her door and turned to him with an expectant look.

 

“Ready to go?” she asked.

 

Dipper blinked a few times as he willed his brain to restart. “Yeah! Where to?”

 

A smirk stole over Pacifica’s face as she replied cryptically, “You’ll see.”

 

With only that vague answer as explanation, she strode past him. His throat tightened when she passed so closely that her knuckles brushed thigh and Dipper craned his neck over his shoulder to watch her receding figure. He wondered for a heart hammering moment whether that had been an accident, or intentional.  

 

There was only one way to find out was to follow her.

 

Dipper set off after her with a spring in his step.

 

\---

 

The anticipation that had built over the past twenty minutes as they walked side by side finally broke when Pacifica slowed to a stop and declared, “Here it is!”

 

Dipper squinted at the squat brick building with orange-tinted windows, sandwiched between a darkened bakery and a dimly lit Irish Pub. Faint music wafted into the street from the windows, but all Dipper could hear was the pounding of the drums and the low thrum of the base. Over a pinstriped awning hung a bright red sign with the word _Speakeasy_ in cursive. One lone bouncer stood guard at the door on the otherwise deserted sidewalk.

 

“This is it?” he demanded incredulously.

 

Pacifica’s eyes narrowed at the slight. With an edge, she reminded him, “You were about to spend the night alone on your couch. You don’t get to piss on my place.”

 

She waved at the bouncer as she passed and the man gave her a familiar nod. Dipper followed close behind and kept his head down, hopeful the bouncer wouldn’t ask for ID. The last few months while he waited for his twenty first birthday had been gruelling, and he was still five months away from being of age. He relaxed a touch when he made it through the door without so much as a suspicious look from the bouncer.

 

Once inside, Dipper realized that this was no ordinary night club. The large dance floor was filled with dancers, but not drunken ones. They were exclusively swing dancers, the majority of whom were dressed in period clothing. A big band with a drummer, a bass player, a pianist, a guitarist, a small horn section, and a saxophone jived on a stage in the corner opposite the bar as the dancers whipped around the room in time.

 

His jaw fell open in surprise. “Whoa! You like this place?”

 

“What’s not to like?” Pacifica beamed over her shoulder, and Dipper’s breath snagged when a cascade of purple and pink light fell over her, making her look for a moment like she was glowing. Then the lights had shifted again and Pacifica led the way to the plush booths that lined the far wall. Dipper stumbled to keep up with her and almost bumped into a pair of dancers, but he managed to stay with her.

 

They snagged an empty booth that was close to the dance floor but far enough from the band so they could hear each other. Dipper watched the coloured lights glinting off the trumpets and snare drum, the swirl of skirts as the women were swung around by their partners, and the rhythmic movements of the bar tenders as they handed out drink after drink to an eager line of breathless dancers. The band’s beat was so infectious that Dipper’s toe started to tap along.

 

“How did you find this place?” he asked over the music.

 

Pacifica shrugged as she waved down a server. “I was looking for somewhere with good dancing and someone in my bio class recommended this place.”

 

He wanted to ask more questions, but the waitress arrived with a notepad and a smile.

“Hey there, can I get you two anything?”

 

“Two gin and tonics,” Pacifica replied smoothly as she shot Dipper a look across the table. “Unless you can’t handle it?”

 

He gave her a withering look. “Just a ginger ale for me, please. Designated driver,” he lied.

 

Pacifica raised a puzzled brow but she didn’t object. She just turned to the waitress and said, “Alright, then. Make mine a double.”

 

“Coming right up!”

 

As the waitress bustled off to the bar, Pacifica fixed him with a suspicious look and asked, “Since when are you the designated driver?”

 

His neck went hot and he dropped his chin to mumble into his collar. “Since…mm nah leguhl.”

 

“What?”

 

Dipper cast a fearful look toward the bar, then leaned over the table to whisper, “I’m not legal yet. My birthday’s in August.”

 

Pacifica blinked. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Because _someone_ decided not to tell me where we were going,” he replied with a pointed look.

 

Her eyes made a full rotation as she said, “C’mon, you could have told me you were uncomfortable. We can leave, if you want?”

 

“No! I want to stay. I just can’t order anything in case they card me,” he said with a furtive glance toward the barkeep.

 

“I could order you something if you want,” she suggested. “They never card me; they know me now.”

 

Dipper sucked a breath through his teeth and shook his head. “I’d rather not chance it. Besides, I’m not much of a drinker.”

 

Pacifica’s mouth curled in a smirk as she asked, “What about that time I found you passed out on the staircase?”

 

He groaned and scrubbed his face. With a hiss, he admitted, “That was a house party. A couple friends bought me some booze, and then they convinced me to do a keg stand…”

 

His face paled at the memory and he concluded, “Not my finest moment.”

 

Her eyes glittered mischievously. “Are you secretly a partier?”

 

“Nope,” he articulated the p with a pop, “I am not made for wild college parties.”

 

A smile quirked her lip and she said, “Yeah, I kind of grew out of my party phase. First year I was pretty crazy, but this year I’ve been shockingly well-behaved. It’s more fun going to the bar with your friends than cramming into someone’s crappy apartment with a bunch of strangers that you have to impress.”

 

“I thought you were a socialite? Life of the party and all that?” Dipper teased as he propped his chin on the heel of his palm. “I thought you’d like being the centre of attention.”

 

Her eyes fell to her cup and she shrugged. “I’d rather be here with you any day.”

 

“R...Really?” At his voice crack took a sip of soda to clear the raspiness.

 

Pacifica’s eyes met his again and she looked like she had been caught in a compromising situation. With renewed bluster, she said, “Anything is better than awkward small talk and creepy sophomores hitting on you.”

 

Dipper let out a shaky breath and said, “Yeah, I guess there’s no chance of any sophomores hitting on you here!”

 

Relief flooded Dipper when the waitress returned with their drinks. They both thanked her, and Dipper seized Pacifica’s preoccupation with her gin and tonic to change the subject.

 

“So! How was your party?”

 

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Her nose wrinkled and she set down her glass with a thud.

 

“The party was a bust,” Pacifica replied. Mindlessly, she spun a silver band around her middle finger and explained, “My parents made this guy my escort and he was a total douche. And _god,_ there was this girl I was friends with in high school with who was like, grilling me for my whole life story and asking why I don’t have a boyfriend.”

 

Her jaw tightened and she raked her fingers through her hair as she blurted, “She’s a total hypocrite, judging me for not dating anyone while she’s just...dating some guy because he’s rich and her parents like him! Just because she can’t cope with being alone for five seconds…It’s not like I – I _need_ someone or anything! I’m…I’m totally fine.”

 

Dipper felt his stomach churn with sympathy at the clear frustration in her tone. True, she was annoyed with this girl - whoever she was - but she was clearly frustrated and angry with the situation she was put in. It was easy to lash out at an old friend. He suspected it was much more difficult to confront her parents about the problem.

 

“That sucks,” Dipper said with sincerity. “I know what you mean about the whole not dating thing. My family and friends keep asking when I’m going to get back out there. I’m not sure I’m ready to put myself out there after that disaster of a breakup. Maybe I’m just not supposed to date for a while, you know?”

 

His fear of rejection had increased tenfold since he had been cheated on and promptly dumped his ex. It was fear that stopped him from exploring the closeness he felt to Pacifica. They were good friends, and he valued her friendship more than he had valued a friend in a long time. However, there was the pesky problem of his desire to kiss her until her breath was ragged, or hold her in his arms as he fell asleep. He was hopelessly in love with her: the humour, the brains, the beauty, the sarcasm, and the unexpected kindness. He wanted all of her.

 

Pacifica’s brow furrowed. “You mean you haven’t flirted with anyone since you broke up with Will?”

 

Oh, he had been flirting, alright. Pacifica just hadn’t noticed, and he wasn’t about to clue her in. “Nah, I just haven’t...been into it, you know?”

 

Pacifica blinked. “No.”

 

Sometimes, Pacifica was exasperating.

 

With a careless shrug, Pacifica turned her attention to the crowded dancefloor.

 

“What you need,” she said as she scanned the bar with pursed lips, “is a rebound. How about that guy in the grey shirt?”

 

Dipper glanced over at the bar and cocked his head. Sure enough, there were three men chatting at the bar and the one on the right with ginger hair and a clean cut beard wore a grey V-neck. Dipper made a dubious face.

 

“I don’t think a rebound is going to help. Besides, Will and I broke up more than two months ago. Can we really call it a rebound anymore?”

 

“Yes!” She continued to check out the line of men at the bar as she explained, “You just slept with him last week, so you’re on the rebound.”

 

Dipper was struck by her words. Had it only been a week since he had said goodbye to Will? That meant it had almost been a week since he had that moment with Pacifica, and a week since his interest had morphed into full-out pining. Time flies when you’re having a quarter life crisis.

 

“Ooooh, what about the guy in the army jacket? At the other end of the bar.”

 

When Dipper shifted his gaze to where she was looking, Pacifica lifted her glass to her lips and tipped her head back, ever casual. Dipper’s eyes were drawn back to her before he even got a good look at candidate number two, and he felt his stomach yo-yo at the sight of her head titled back to reveal the deep v-cut of her dress.

 

“I…” he swallowed, “I don’t think so. He’s not my type.”

 

He didn’t mention that currently, his type seemed to be loud-mouthed, blonde haired, blue eyed neighbours with a cutting sense of humour and a secret heart of gold. Now didn’t seem like a good time to bring it up.

 

Pacifica frowned as she squinted in concentration. “Picky, picky. Alright, what about the guy in the blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up? Not my first choice, but - ”

 

“You know I don’t just like _guys_ , don’t you?” Dipper interjected.

 

When Pacifica turned to him with a slightly stunned expression, he felt his ears heat up and he worried that he had been too abrupt. It wasn’t anything personal, he knew; she was just trying to be helpful in her aggressive, I-know-best kind of way. But he worried that if she kept listing off potential guys to hook up with, she’d forget that he was _very_ much into girls. Specifically the girl sitting across from him.

 

Her expression shifted into something more apologetic and she said, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have just assumed you’d want to be with another guy after you told me how much shit people give you about being bi. You probably get tired of people sticking you into one group or the other all the time, and I just...shit, I’m sorry.”

 

Her apology, while not very articulate, was sincere. Dipper was touched by her care. Few people aside from his family and close friends considered the fluid and complex nature of how Dipper felt when it came to love. He was relieved that she understood and hoped this meant he wasn’t totally out of the game yet.

 

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I appreciate the thought, but hookups with strangers aren’t my thing”

 

Pacifica set her glass down and sighed. “Suit yourself,” she said airily. “A hookup always cheers me up.”

 

Dipper’s stomach twisted and he cleared his throat. “So you have experience with...that?”

 

Pacifica’s eyes cut to him and she tilted her head to the side.

 

“Hooking up with strangers?” she wondered. When he nodded, she shrugged and replied, “A little, I guess. I’ve only done it a few times, usually with someone I know through a friend. It’s not like I walk into club and yell ‘Who wants to fuck?’”

 

He choked on his ginger ale, and Pacifica dissolved into giggles. Dipper was left to wheeze for a minute, banging his fist on his chest to clear his airway. When his coughing subsided, he swallowed hard and asked, “Are you actually trying to kill me?”

 

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Relax, I was just joking!” She glanced at the bar and added, “Damn, it looks like that coughing fit turned off Grey Shirt. He’s not checking you out anymore.”

 

He hadn’t been aware Grey Shirt had been checking him out in the first place, so it was no skin off his back. In perfect deadpan, Dipper said, “How will I ever get over him?”

 

She chuckled and took a sip of her drink. When she set her glass down, she asked, “So how do you get over nasty breakups?”

 

Dipper frowned and replied, “I don’t know. This is the first bad one I’ve had. Most of them have been mutual, or not that serious. I don’t know, I guess I just...binge Netflix? And this time I went to that wild kegster, you know...the one where I got, uh…”

 

“Heinously drunk?” Pacifica filled in helpfully.

 

He coughed. “Yeah, that one.”

 

Pacifica snorted. “Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. The first time I got dumped, I went on a shopping spree that nearly put my parents out of house and home.”

 

Dipper’s eyes widened. “How?”

 

“How did I get dumped? Shocking, I know,” Pacifica said with a smirk.

 

“No, like….how did you spend that much money?” he demanded.

 

Pacifica snorted. “Talent. Anyway, the guy basically broke up with me by inviting me to dinner and then asking for the bracelet he gave me for my birthday back so he could give it to another girl he was interested in.”

 

Dipper winced. “Ouch. That’s a dick move!”

 

“I know, right? I thought my life was over and no one would ever want to go out with me again. But after a week I realized that guy wasn’t the love of my life. He was just the love of junior year. That breakup taught me that no boy – or girl – is worth feeling like garbage over, no matter how much they meant to you.”

 

Dipper tilted his head to the side in surprise and remarked, “That’s pretty smart for a sixteen-year-old.”

 

Pacifica smiled wryly. “I was wise beyond my years.”

 

Their waitress returned to check their progress, and the two of them politely declined a second drink. As the woman walked away, she met Dipper’s eye and cocked her head toward the woman’s receding back.

 

“No,” Dipper said instantly.

 

With a shrug, Pacifica took a drag on her straw. “Suit yourself.”

 

Dipper made a face as she sucked back her drink and muttered, “I have no idea what you see in gin. It’s awful.”

 

“It’s classic,” Pacifica retorted, “and it has a great kick.”

 

“You have by far the _worst_ taste.”

 

Pacifica narrowed her eyes and looked about to defend herself, but then her expression turned mischievous.

 

“I guess that extends to my taste in friends,” she teased with a pointed look.

 

A smile of disbelief spread over his face. “Did you just admit to being my friend?”

 

Pacifica stared into her glass for a few seconds as she considered the question, then turned her gaze to the band. Casually, she commented, “The music’s great, isn’t it?”

 

“No no no,” Dipper prodded her arm with a finger, “you’re not changing the subject. Are we friends?”

 

Pacifica sucked her teeth and looked him up and down in deliberation. With an exasperated sigh, she replied, “I _guess_ so.”

 

“Ha! I knew it!” Dipper crowed as he threw his arms into the air.

 

Pacifica rolled her eyes and took another sip that nearly drained her half-full glass.

 

“Whoa, easy there,” Dipper cautioned with a furrowed brow.

 

Pacifica scoffed. “Please, it’ll take more than that to get me buzzed! You’ll never see me drunk, Dipper.”

 

Dipper wasn’t sure he believed her, but he was willing to give Pacifica the benefit of the doubt. Besides, he was positive that drunk Pacifica would be even more of a handful than sober Pacifica, and that was something he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to face.

 

Dipper sipped at his ginger ale and shifted in his seat to better see the dancers. The hired dancers were back to the basic pattern now with only the occasional fancy footwork. Each pair moved in tandem, mirroring each other perfectly. The partnered sections were tight as a drum and the small solo bits complemented each other so well that each time the partners rejoined, it was like they had never parted. He understood why Pacifica liked the place so much.

 

Pacifica sucked on her straw wistfully. “I miss it,” she said suddenly as she watched a man in spats lift his partner clean off the floor and set her down again, so her skirt flashed them for a second. As she lowered her glass, she explained, “I used to take ballroom dance. I learned stuff like the waltz, the foxtrot, and the samba. And one year they had a guest teacher who taught us swing for a whole semester. It was so fun!”

 

“You can do _that_?” Dipper asked as he watched the girl in the blue dress slide between her partner’s legs across the polished wood floor.

 

Pacifica laughed. “Not all of it, but I know the basics.”

 

“Why don’t you go join them?” A few of the dancers were in street clothes like themselves and dancing up a storm, in pairs or with one of the hired dancers in period dress.

 

Pacifica shook her head and said, “It’s been forever since I danced like that. I don’t know if I remember.”

 

Despite her protest, Dipper caught her yearning glance at the floor. He gestured to the floor and suggested, “Just wait until the end of this song, then hop up and grab a partner.”

 

Pacifica chewed on her lower lip. “Do you think someone would want to dance with me?”

 

He suppressed the urge to laugh out loud at her question because he couldn’t think of anyone who would say no to a dance with Pacifica. She was beautiful, confident, and had a sense of command that both invited and intimidated. He had no doubt at least one of the dancers on the floor would want to partner with her.

 

“Yeah, go for it!”

 

With Dipper’s encouragement, Pacifica steeled herself.

 

“Alright, watch my drink,” she ordered.

 

On steady legs Pacifica slid out of the booth, threw her shoulders back, and sauntered onto the floor. She waited at the fringe of the floor as the band circled around the cadence and finally landed with a cacophonous blast. On the button of the last note, during the applause, Pacifica approached one of the young men in a tweed vest with his hair coiffed. Dipper watched the exchange and wasn’t surprised by the smile the dancer flashed at Pacifica. He spoke to his partner and she nodded eagerly, then strode over to one of the reserved chairs where a couple of other costumed dancers were drinking water and catching their breath. The young woman probably welcomed the opportunity to rest her feet after hours of dancing.

 

There was a shuffling of partners as the band took a moment to regroup, but the band was soon poised to play. Pacifica’s partner led her to an open spot on the floor and she fell into frame with him. Dipper held his breath as he waited for the band to kick up.

 

The band was quickly out the gates. After only a few measures of bobbing to the beat, Pacifica and her partner started to dance. Dipper’s jaw fell open as he watched Pacifica follow her partner with clean form and impressive speed. Her partner was just as surprised, if the delighted grin was any indication as Pacifica stepped out of hold to execute a spin.

 

As the band grooved, Dipper was happy to watch Pacifica grow in confidence, until she was moving like Ginger Rogers with a perpetual smile on her face as her partner spun her around. Aside from her outfit, Dipper didn’t see much difference in quality between Pacifica and the other hired dancers.

 

The longer he watched, the more Dipper was swept up by the mood, until his knee bounced to the music. For the grand finale of the song, Pacifica’s partner lifted her clean off the ground and swung her around, then dipped her low. As the music ended, the applause from the people drinking in booths crescendoed, and Dipper joined in, clapping so hard his palms stung.

 

 

Pacifica was all smiles as she thanked her partner, and he bent to kiss the back of her hand. When she returned to the table flushed and breathless, Dipper blurted, “That was awesome!”

 

Although she beamed, Pacifica’s voice was faint when she said, “It was pretty good. I remembered more than I thought!”

 

“Are you kidding? You were amazing!” Dipper insisted.

 

She shook her head and said, “It was nothing, really.”

 

He saw colour rise in her cheeks that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the dancing. He grinned and asked, “Pacifica, are you blushing?”

 

“No,” she replied with a scowl, “it’s warm up there. The lights…and the dancing.”

 

“Uh huh…” Dipper waggled his brows at her.

 

She pursed her lips. “Don’t believe me? Then come dance with me.”

 

His heart slammed to a stop. After a few seconds, he stuttered, “I, uh, I don’t think I should…”

 

“Come on, I’ll show you!” she said as she caught his sleeve.

 

Somehow, Pacifica managed to haul all six feet of him out of the booth and drag him onto the dance floor before the band struck up the next song. He was stiff, but Pacifica moved his arms into position like a marionette until one hand rested on her waist and the other was held in hers.

 

Now that she had his attention, Pacifica was all business. “The basic step goes like this: Left, right, cross behind, left, right, cross behind…”

 

As she spoke the words, she slowly mirrored the steps, swaying with the movement. When they reached the end of the pattern, Pacifica commanded, “Again.”

 

This time as she spoke, the music struck up, but they continued with their slow pace. Helpless against her determination, Dipper followed her with halting steps until he understood the pattern. Then she gradually coaxed him into a faster speed, moving at an _accellerando_ until they were doing the step in time with the music.

 

“You’re a quick learner!” Pacifica yelled over the trumpet solo.

 

“Thanks,” he shouted back. His gaze drifted to a nearby couple who looked like beginners themselves, and he watched them do a turn and spin. “How do you do that?”

 

Pacifica watched the couple for a few seconds, then said, “That’s easy! You don’t even have to move your feet for that one.”

 

Slowly, Pacifica walked through the step, ducking under his arm, turning away from him, seizing his free hand, and then ducking under the opposite arm until she was on the other side. Finally, she did a tight turn and returned to his arms. Dipper had no dance ability whatsoever, but patterns were his thing. After a few tries, he could anticipate and guide her moves with a nudge here, a pull there. When he tugged her hand to reel her in, Pacifica whipped around like a top and back into hold on the spin. They worked on these two combinations while the dancers around them whizzed around like bottle caps, and by the time the drummer hit the cymbals with a final crash, Dipper could manoeuver Pacifica like a pro.

 

“Hey, not bad!” This was high praise from someone like Pacifica, who gave compliments sparingly and begrudgingly..

 

“Thanks! You want to take a break?” he suggested.

 

“Yeah, but I want a drink first!”

 

They elbowed their way through the throng at the bar and ordered two more drinks. Once they fought through the bodies and finally settled into their booth again, Dipper’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out.

 

He felt a rush of warmth when he saw his sister’s message.

 

_Just finished more art show stuff!  
Where r u? Im boredddddddd_

 

“Who’s that?” Pacifica raised her chin to see his screen.

 

Dipper turned it around for Pacifica to see and replied, “It’s Mabel, asking where I am tonight. I’ll let her know that I’m busy, just a sec.”

 

“Tell her to come meet us!” Pacifica exclaimed. “It’ll be fun!”

 

Dipper hesitated, torn between having a great time with his two favourite people in Los Angeles, and wanting to have Pacifica all to himself. It was selfish, and Dipper gave himself a mental kick. Pacifica looked so excited to see Mabel, and her enthusiasm was infectious.

 

He sent Mabel a text with their names and the location. Mabel responded within seconds.

 

_!!!!!!!????????!!!!!!!! FGMWERUOHNFAWJHIR OH MY GOD, YOU’RE WITH PACIFICA???_

_Fmksj kropkem gnrunmr!!!!!!!_

_Be there in 20!_

 

Dipper laughed at her response and rolled his eyes.

 

“She’ll be here in 20,” he summarized as he shoved his phone back into his pocket to conceal the aneurysm Mabel was having via text.

 

Pacifica smiled and said, “Cool! I haven’t seen her in person since we met, but we’ve been texting _tons._ ”

 

Dipper should have been happy that his friend and his sister seemed to be getting along. However, this was Mabel and Pacifica we were talking about. He didn’t trust either of them as far as he could throw them when it came to sharing embarrassing stories about him; and Mabel had an unabridged history of every embarrassing moment of his life _._

 

“Oh yeah?” he asked warily. “About what?”

 

Pacifica’s smile was shark-like, as if she could smell blood in the water. “Oh just...things,” she drawled, stirring her new drink with her straw so the ice clinked.

 

“Pacifica…” Dipper wasn’t up for playing detective tonight.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad! She mainly talked about what you two do together. The homemade Halloween costumes, how you used to play monster hunter in the woods at your uncle’s place – Oh! And the Great Reptile Escape of 2010.”

 

Dipper sighed. Of _course_ Mabel had told Pacifica about every mildly embarrassing thing that had happened to him since birth. At least Pacifica seemed to think it was funny.

 

“So, what else did my blabbermouth sister tell you about me?” Dipper asked as he leaned back in his seat.

 

“Apparently you’re a gifted karaoke partner.”

 

“Oh my godddddddd.” Dipper cradled his head in his hands. “She didn’t.”

 

Pacifica hissed through her teeth and replied, “She did. And she sent a video.”

 

“What?!”

 

Pacifica held up her phone and waved it for emphasis. “Do you want to see it?”

 

With a grumble, Dipper agreed, and Pacifica hopped out of her seat as she scrolled through her messages from Mabel. When she found it, she hummed in triumph and dropped into the booth next to him.

 

“Here it is!” she declared as she angled the phone so they could both watch the scene unfold on her tiny screen.

 

Although the tinny sound of his pre-pubescent voice coming through her speakers was akin to the wails of an injured crow, Dipper was far too distracted by being so close to Pacifica to feel fully embarrassed about his performance. And his performance _was_ embarrassing. But her hand was on his thigh as she leaned in to see better, and she smelled like peppermint underneath the citrus from earlier –seriously, how did she _do_ that? Wasn’t she sweaty from the dancing?

 

He was close enough to feel her shake with laughter when he hit a particularly sour note, and see her dimples when young Dipper whipped around his cape and promptly knocked over the mic stand on screen. After everything – the jokes, the support, and the fun that night – Dipper was positive that he liked Pacifica as more than a friend.

 

And for the first time, he wasn’t afraid to say something about it.

 

The video mercifully ended, although he was a bit annoyed that the closing shot froze on a close-up of his armpit. Pacifica simply grinned as she closed out of the video and glanced up at him. She must have mistaken his serious expression for embarrassment and she was quick to assure him, “Don’t worry, you two were cute! And you were frigging _hilarious_!”

 

His mouth twitched in gratitude even as his belly bubbled with nerves. He wet his lips with a sweep of his tongue and started to speak. “Pacifica, I–”

 

“HELLO!”

 

Dipper jumped at the sudden greeting, nearly knocking Pacifica right out of the booth. He turned his head to find Mabel hanging over the back of the seat with a Cheshire smile. She threw an arm around each of them in a hug.

 

“It’s so good to see you guys, thanks for inviting me! This place is so cool!”

 

As Dipper tried to restart his failing heart, Mabel scurried around the table and slid into the seat across from them.

 

“Hey!” Pacifica brushed her bangs out with her fingertips and scooted away from Dipper. “Glad you could make it! This place is great, right?”

 

Dipper forced a smile and asked, “What took you so long? Pacifica was starting to show videos of my embarrassing pre-teenage hood.”

 

Mabel cackled. “Your pre-teens weren’t the only embarrassing years, Dipper! I’ve got loads of material.”

 

“Really?” Pacifica leaned over the table with a mischievous smirk.

 

As playful as ever, Mabel slid in closer on an elbow and winked at Pacifica. “Tons. But it’ll cost you a drink.”

 

Pacifica’s face broke out into a smile. “What do you want?”

 

“Sex on the beach!”

 

Dipper winced and shot Mabel a half-hearted glare. He knew his sister well enough to know that she had only chosen a “Sex on the beach” for the pleasure of shouting “Sex on the beach” to the room at large.

 

Pacifica just laughed. “I’ll grab one at the bar. Be right back!”

 

She slipped out of the booth and sauntered off to the bar, her hips swaying like she was on the dance floor again. Seriously, did she even know she was doing that? Was it on purpose? Was it for his benefit?

 

“Dip dop,” Mabel’s waving hand pulled his gaze away from Pacifica, and he met her knowing look. Her eyes darted to Pacifica as she drawled, “Did I interrupt something? Because I can totally claim an emergency and leave so you two can... _you know_.”

 

Mabel’s wink was like a full face spasm, with all the subtlety of a train wreck. He wouldn’t be surprised if Pacifica could see it from the bar.

 

“No, she wanted me to invite you,” Dipper replied. “We thought it’d be fun if you came, too.”

 

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Mabel said with a sly look, “but won’t it put a damper on the ambiance?”

 

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Mabel, you never put a damper on anything, you are human _sunshine_. Don’t worry about it, really.”

 

Dipper’s gaze drifted to Pacifica again, where she was now propped up on an elbow with one hip stuck out. She chatted with the bartender, who smiled at her like she was an old friend. His stomach fluttered when she said something and the man tipped his head back with a roar of laughter.

 

In his peripheries, Dipper saw Mabel shift forward. “So, have you kissed her yet?”

 

“Not yet,” he replied, too distracted by Pacifica to be careful with his words. The realization hit him when he heard a squeal and the patter of her hands doing a drum roll on the table.

 

“Ooooh, so you’re trying to kiss her?”

 

Dipper was so flustered that he stammered, “Well, like…not _actively_ trying, but we got pretty close.”

 

Mabel’s mouth fell open in shock. “Oh my god, when? Now?”

 

“No, no! Last week.” His voice went faint as he tracked Pacifica’s movements across the room. She had a drink in each hand and looked like she was saying goodbye to the bartender.

 

“Last week?!” Mabel’s high pitched squeak pulled the attention of a group of middle aged drinkers in the booth behind her. She dug her finger nails into his arm and cried, “It happened last week and you didn’t tell me? Mason Pines, you tell me everything right now or–”

 

“Shh! We’ll talk later, okay?” He eyed Pacifica as she approached the table. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

 

Mabel stuck out her lower lip and let go of his sleeve. “You’d better.”

 

“I will, I promise.” He breathed his last word just as Pacifica set the drink in front of Mabel.

 

“Here you go,” she said as she slid into the booth next to Mabel.

 

Mabel raised her glass and inclined it toward Pacifica. “Thanks, girl!”

 

To his surprise, Pacifica raised her glass and clinked it against Mabel’s, then took a long pull on her straw. Dipper’s stomach knotted in on itself. How close _were_ these two?

 

“So, how are things with you? Are you in midterms right now?” Pacifica asked as she lowered her glass.

 

Mabel shook her head and replied, “Nahhh, I don’t really have midterms; just check-ins on my term projects with my profs. But right now I’m completely _swamped_ with a bunch of art showcase stuff.” Mabel raked both hands through her hair in exasperation and blew out a frustrated breath. “You’d be surprised how hard it is to find a decent balloon arch around here! I might just have to make the thing myself.”

 

Pacifica raised a quizzical brow and shot Dipper a look. “What show case?”

 

Mabel perked up at the question, pleased that someone was curious about her event. Dipper cared about Mabel’s struggles, of course; he’d just been hearing about the nitty gritty behind-the-scenes details for so long that he felt he was living the nightmare along with Mabel. He had lost interest in gallery turf wars and which artist had thrown shade at whom.

 

Mabel was thrilled to have a new audience. “It’s part of my term project,” she explained. “Since I’m interested in arts administration and maybe being an arts director, I get to organize the end of term art showcase for students. I have to arrange the exhibits, decorate the venue, sell tickets, choose caterers, hire entertainment and the bartender…” She sighed, a little dejected, and added, “I didn’t know it meant I’d be dealing with a bunch of egos all the time.”

 

“Egos, in an artistic field,” Pacifica said as she casually lifted her glass to her lips. She winked across the table at Dipper as she teased, “Imagine!”

 

“Har, har,” Mabel replied with heavy sarcasm. “But I thought I could make it really fun, and I am! Most of the people are really cool. Some of them, though…”

 

She made a face as she said delicately, “Some of them are difficult to work with.”

 

“That’s an understatement,” Dipper piped up. “Remember that guy who wanted to have an entire showcase room to himself for his micro paintings? Or that one girl who got mad about the temperature in the gallery?”

 

Mabel puffed out her cheeks and nodded, looking suddenly fatigued. “Yep, it’s nonstop,” she replied weakly. But then she straightened up in her seat and announced, “But I’m not going to let it get to me. I’m here to drink!”

 

She took a determined sip of her drink and Pacifica gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

 

“That’s the spirit!” Pacifica joked.

 

“Oooh!” Mabel set down her glass with a thud and immediately brightened. “Do you guys want to come to the show at the end of next month? I can give you comp tickets!”

 

Dipper nearly snorted into his drink when he saw the absolute disdain that Pacifica showed at the suggestion. Before she could make an excuse, Dipper chimed in, “Pacifica’s a bit of an art connoisseur, you know.”

 

“Really?” Mabel asked. “Then you’ll love it!”

 

Pacifica turned her head slowly and fixed Dipper with a cold look. She forced out a breathy laugh and replied, “I’m not into modern art.”

 

“Come on, there’s something for everyone here!” Mabel insisted.

 

Pacifica looked back and forth between Mabel and Dipper, unsure whether to hit him with a glare or meet Mabel with a smile.

 

Pleased to have caught her off guard, Dipper teased, “Yeah! Some of it’s going to be _hilariously_ pretentious.” He wiggled his brows and added, “It might even be too stuck up for _you_.”

 

Her mouth fell open in surprise. Sensing Dipper’s playfulness, Mabel grinned as she rushed to Pacifica’s defense.

 

 “You take that back, sir!” she demanded as she jabbed a finger at her brother. She raised the tiny umbrella from her glass and made to fight him off, but Pacifica merely sniffed and said, “Real mature, Dipper.”

 

Just then, a trumpet blasted a tuning to signal the band’s return from break. After a bit of noodling, the drummer counted the group in with a crash and the music started up again. Mabel watched with wide eyes as dancers flitted back to the dance floor, and jaw fell open when the professionals started to move.

 

“Wow, that looks awesome! Let’s go dance!”

 

“You know, Pacifica’s a pretty good dancer,” Dipper said with a smile behind his glass.

 

Pacifica shook her head and tried to wave him off, but Mabel pounced on the opportunity. “We _have_ to go! C’mon, girl!”

 

Mabel knocked back the remainder of her glass, cherry and all, then started pushing Pacifica out of the booth. Laughing, Pacifica tried to hold the table to keep from sliding out of her seat and whined, “Noooo, my drink!”

 

Her protest was weak, and soon she was out of the booth with Mabel close behind. Before she could be ushered to the dance floor, Pacifica shrugged off her jacket to reveal the camisole beneath, and tossed it toward Dipper with a smirk. It landed on his shoulder like he was a human coat hook, and he could merely stare at her, flushed and twinkling with amusement. Mabel giggled and seized her by the hand, dragging Pacifica to the center of the hubbub. Dipper watched Pacifica try to impose some kind of order by getting them both into a dancer’s frame; but once they were in position, Mabel took off, and soon Pacifica was barely upright with laughter, spinning around in circles.

 

Dipper felt a pang of loneliness as Mabel and Pacifica zipped around the dancefloor like two out of control spinning tops. He wondered if he and Pacifica had looked that happy when she had taught him how to swing. He had felt that happy, being so close and laughing over his mistakes, but he was second guessing it now. Maybe his crush was unfounded; maybe that almost kiss really hadn’t been an almost kiss, and it was just wishful thinking on his part. Maybe Pacifica didn’t even _like him._

 

“Hey!” He was pulled from his melancholy by a strong voice, and he raised his head to see Pacifica with an outstretched hand. “You want to dance with us?”

 

Behind Pacifica, Mabel beamed at him, her hands fiddling with wild energy. After a few seconds of hesitation, Pacifica rolled her eyes in impatience and said, “What do you need, a written invitation? Come on, Dipper.”

 

She took his hand and pulled him from the booth on numb legs. Despite the loss of feeling in his legs, they swam through the sea of dancers both professional and amateur. Everyone, no matter the age or level of intoxication, was positively cutting a rug. Dipper only had a few seconds to register the music before he felt a tug and was facing Pacifica, who looked up at him like he was the only one on the dancefloor. _Oh._ He could get used to that.

 

She guided him back into frame, and despite the blood that pounded in his ears and the clamminess of his palms, it felt more at ease than he had all night. He was focused on each breath, and when Pacifica started to move, he followed. It started with the first move he had learned, the pattern repeated over and over again as Pacifica twirled around him. But then, he started to lose himself in the beat, and her, and they were swinging around with all the coordination of a couple of water buffalo on roller blades. Her smile was blinding as her skirts swirled and the lights bounced of her face in pinks, purples, and blues.

 

It made him drunk, the way she looked at him. He was getting confident; getting cocky. When she stepped out from him and extended her arm into a beautiful line, Dipper’s instinct kicked in. Thanks to watching more musicals than he’d care to admit with his sister and his newfound confidence, Dipper’s idea was set into motion. With a jerk on Pacifica’s hand, he brought her spinning back to him, and wrapped his free arm around her waist. He dipped her low, and her mouth parted in a silent gasp. When their eyes met, he felt a jolt of electricity in his gut. Still tainted by the rosy hued lenses of the musicals he had watched, he wondered for a delirious second if he should kiss her now.

 

The image was all too quickly shattered as a dancer collided with her head. Her awed expression twisted in pain.

 

“Ow! What the fu–?”

 

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Dipper instantly pulled her upright and his hands hovered around her head for a few seconds as he debated whether or not he should cradle it. At a loss, he finally dropped his twitching hands.

 

Pacifica grimaced as she rubbed her neck and shot a glare at the man who had bumped her. He was still dancing with his partner, none the wiser. She huffed.

 

“It’s fine,” she grumbled in a tone that made it clear it was _not_ fine.

 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Mabel placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and peered into her face with concern.

 

“Yeah, I just…” Pacifica flung an arm toward their booth and said, “I’m going to sit down.”

 

The dancers parted for Pacifica as she marched off in a puff of steam. As Dipper watched her march away, a lump formed in his throat.

 

He was surprised when Mabel slung a warm arm over his shoulders and smirked up at him. “You know, those were some pretty smooth moves before you smashed her head in.”

 

 “It was an accident!” he wailed. With a groan, he covered his face with a hand and moaned, “Oh god, she’s gonna hate me!”

 

Mabel gave him a gentle shake and replied, “No no, you were doing great! She was _totally_ giving you vibes.”

 

Dipper peeked through his fingers and asked, “Good ones or bad ones?”

 

Mabel laughed. “Good ones; _really_ good ones. She was giving you _serious_ bedroom vibes.”

 

“Mabel!” His half-hearted swat couldn’t hide how pleased he was.  

 

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Mabel said with an air of innocence, “and bro bro, she clearly likes you.”

 

Dipper dared to glance at Pacifica. His hopes, buoyed by Mabel’s supportive words, sank when he saw her massaging her neck with a glower.

 

“I’m glad you’re confident,” he said with a sigh. “C’mon, let’s see if she’s okay.”

 

When Dipper reached the table, Pacifica had been topped off by the waitress. In the time it took for him and Mabel to slide into the opposite side of the booth, she had downed half her drink.

 

“Whoa, take it easy,” he cautioned her with a laugh.

 

Pacifica cut him a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Nothing!” Dipper shook his head as he backpedaled. “Nothing, I was just…Are you okay? That guy hit you pretty hard.”

 

“I said I was fine,” Pacifica snapped.

 

The more she said it, the less he believed it. And Mabel’s insistence that Pacifica was into him was growing more unlikely by the second. Luckily, Mabel was there to clear the tension.

 

“So,” she clapped her hands, “do you want to grab another drink, or…?”

 

“Nope.” Pacifica drained the last of her glass. “I’m going to the washroom, and then I’m leaving. Do you mind asking the waitress for our bill while I’m gone? Tell her to put it all on one, I’ll treat you both.”

 

Before Dipper could object, Mabel hopped up and snagged Pacifica by the wrist.

 

“I gotta pee too! I’ll come with!”

 

“Sure. Dipper, can you grab it?” Pacifica asked over her shoulder as Mabel dragged her off to the back corridor, where they disappeared around the corner.

 

As the whirlwind of the past few minutes settled, Dipper found himself alone and stuck with the bill.

 

“Nice,” he muttered to himself as he shuffled over to the bar. He caught their waitress at the counter collecting drinks for another table, and she promised to print his bill once she had served her other table. While he waited for her to return, Dipper leaned up against the counter and studied the bar. It had grown more crowded since they had arrived an hour and a half earlier, with far more drunken souls on the dancefloor than hired dancers.

 

As his eyes flickered over the sea of moving bodies, he made eye contact with one of Pacifica’s eligible bachelors from earlier that evening. Army Jacket, she had so affectionately called him, smiled at Dipper over his beer bottle and flashed a wink. All Dipper managed was a tight smile as he averted his eyes and tried to keep his internal screaming from becoming external. He had to admit, Pacifica knew how to pick ‘em.

 

Mercifully, the waitress returned. With no Pacifica in sight, he paid the bill with his credit card, thankful that his paycheck would arrive next Wednesday. He was tapping his toe in impatience by the time Mabel and Pacifica emerged from the bathroom. Pacifica was a bit flushed but in better spirits, and Mabel had a sly curve to her mouth that set Dipper’s heart galloping. What had they talked about in there? Had Mabel mentioned him? Or maybe they hadn’t talked at all. Was Mabel’s self-professed romantic charm too irresistible for even Pacifica?

 

“Ready to go?” he asked when they were in earshot.

 

Pacifica frowned. “What about the bill?”

 

“I got it,” he replied with a shrug.

 

He didn’t expect a thank you, of course; that’s what friends were for. But he also didn’t expect a sneer.

 

“You didn’t have to do that, I can pay for myself,” she snarled.

 

“I know, I just…” he fidgeted, “I just wanted to do something nice for you. You had a shitty time with your family, so I thought I would treat you. You can catch the next one, okay?”

 

Her annoyance evaporated and she looked a bit embarrassed. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

 

“No problem.” His eyes fell on Mabel, who chose that moment to shoot him another inauspicious wink. He tossed his head to the door and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

 

The trio burst into the chilly night at a clip. Thankfully, Mabel kept the conversation going for the first several blocks, regaling them with the latest mishap in her student art show preparation. Apparently someone hadn’t realized the flammability of aluminum and made a dire error in storing their art by a heater. One fire extinguisher and a lecture later, Mabel was pleased to tell the story with a snort of laughter.

 

“I’ve been putting out _literal_ fires all week,” she concluded as she slowed down at the bus stop. Dipper realized this was where she usually took the bus from when she visited him and felt his heart squeeze like a vice. What were they going to talk about once Mabel was gone?

 

“Well, this is my stop,” Mabel said with a sigh and a wave to the bus shelter.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at my place? It’s late,” Dipper offered. It would have been a kind gesture, were it not motivated by his fear of being alone with Pacifica.

 

Mabel’s eyes danced like she knew what he was up to and she shook her head. “Thanks, bro bro, but I have breakfast with the other coordinator early tomorrow morning to get ready for this week. If you want a sleepover, just ask Pacifica!”

 

He was horrified that his sister would tease him like this, but Pacifica merely laughed and lightly smacked her. “In his apartment? I’d rather sleep in an alley.”

 

Mabel laughed. Although Dipper was a little hurt by the declaration, he couldn’t disagree. His place had been a mess the last time Pacifica had been there, and his sister knew all too well how messy he could be.

 

“I think we can all agree that we’ll sleep in our own beds, okay?” Dipper said hastily.

 

Mabel huffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun, Dipper,” she teased him with a pout.

 

Before Dipper could object, Mabel pounced on Pacifica in a hug. To his surprise, Pacifica hugged her back with a smile as she said, “Thanks for coming out!”

 

“Thanks for having me! I’ll see you soon.” As she pulled back, Mabel added with a stern look, “Don’t forget the art show!”

 

Pacifica’s smile was didn’t quite reach her eyes as she said, “Of course, how could I forget?”

 

Dipper stifled a snort at Pacifica’s obvious reluctance to say yes to the show, but couldn’t hide his smug smile. It turned sincere when Mabel turned to him for the traditional awkward sibling hug, with an added twist. As she squeezed him tight around the shoulders, she stood on her tip toes and whispered in his ear, “Get. It. _In_.”

 

Scowling, Dipper, gave Mabel an overly aggressive pat on the back and said loudly, “Goodnight, Mabel. Call me when you get home safe.”

 

“Will do!”

 

As Mabel waved them off, Dipper stuffed his hands in his pockets and hurried down the sidewalk with Pacifica alongside him. He wanted to get out of hearing range before Mabel shouted another suggestion like the sleepover one, which might be the final nail in the coffin on his chances with Pacifica. Maybe it was all futile. Maybe Mabel had hinted to Pacifica about his crush on her while they were in the bathroom at the bar and it was already over for him and Pacifica.

 

He didn’t want to think about it.

 

The pair walked the last couple blocks to their building in silence. Only when they were on the stairs to the fourth floor did Dipper finally speak.

 

“I’m really sorry about your head earlier,” he said as he peered at her from the corner of his eye. “I shouldn’t have been messing around.”

 

Pacifica took a few seconds to come out of her thoughts, and her eyes focused as she registered what he had said. She gave her head a shake and insisted, “Don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault. I was just pissed off at that guy for not apologizing for bumping into me.”

 

Dipper was relieved that she wasn’t angry at him, at least. That was better than nothing.

 

Pacifica gnawed on her lip and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Sher voice went low as she said, “Hey, so thanks for coming out with me tonight. I was feeling really shitty after everything with my parents and it was nice to forget about it for a few hours. So. Thank you.”

 

Dipper blinked in surprise at her words. After a few seconds, the corner of his mouth jerked into a smile and he said, “Anytime.”

 

They finally reached their floor, and the two of them came to a stop halfway between their respective apartment doors. Bathed in fluorescent light and shiny from the dancing, Pacifica looked tired but happier than when she had arrived at his door less than three hours ago. Had it only been that long? It felt like so much had changed.

Finally, Pacifica broke the silence.

 

“Well, see you around,” she said with a faint wave as she took a few steps back to her door.

 

Dipper nodded and replied, “Have a good night. Oh!” He took a step toward her and added, “Let me know if you want to pick up our art showcase tickets together. Mabel said we can pick up the comps on campus during noontime.”

 

Pacifica reached her door and quickly unlocked the door. With a beatific smile, she said, “No matter how much I love Mabel, there’s no way I’m going to that. Night!”

 

The door of her apartment shut with a bang of finality.

 

Dipper stood in the hallway for a few seconds as he absorbed this statement. Then, he murmured with a smile, “Challenge accepted, Northwest.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fire me a message/comment here if you like, or you can message me on tumblr at proseandsongs, too!


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